All Shook Up
by blaineywainey
Summary: Kurt Hummel has resigned himself to a double life in his 1959 small town of Lima, Ohio: a hot-shot Greaser by day and a romantic, music-loving fashionista by night. But Kurt's life is about to get all shook up; for better or for worse.
1. Prologue

_Okay, this is the reason I got a account. Just putting it out there. Been hesitant to post it for some reason but here it is, and I'm really proud. Keep in mind this story is heavily influenced by Grease, but if you're not a fan it's not a problem. Fluff and romance and angst and all that good stuff. Rated T for now, I think. Tell me what you think!_

* * *

><p>Kurt Hummel had always been a little strange. Aside from his slender porcelain body and his expressive seafoam-blue eyes, his graceful mannerisms and the way he held his form set him apart from his peers. However, being a little different didn't seem to matter that much in his town, even in the flawless identicality of the suburbia he resided in. His father had owned the local car shop for more than thirty years; people respected Burt Hummel and so they respected his son as well, no questions asked.<p>

It wasn't as if Kurt made questions for people to ask, anyway.

Burt didn't ask questions either, and neither did his mom, until she passed away when Kurt was nine. Though a tragedy, it bonded Burt and Kurt closely; they understood each other and accepted each other through thick and thin, no matter what. Only recently had Burt allowed himself to fall in love again and marry to Carole Hudson, the widowed mother of one of Kurt's classmates, Finn. By default Finn, already fiercely loyal to his new brother, welcomed Kurt into his group of friends and that was how Kurt came to be a part of the coolest gang at school.

Whenever he would go out of the house or attend school he would tag along with Finn, Puck, and Sam, clad in the signature white t-shirt, cuffed jeans, black converse, and supple leather jacket. He would spray the hell out of his hair to make it look like his friends' (Kurt found grease revolting), relax at Dellie's, go out to Breadstix, watch the boys do fancy tricks with their cigarette smoke and try a few of his own now and then, and ride through town in alternating automobiles. Many would say it was a charmed life for a high schooler, but for Kurt it was something less than ideal.

What Kurt wanted to be and do was far from the typically idealistic. He was a romantic at heart, knowing the lyrics to every one of his favorite Broadway musicals and sliding romantic melodies across the piano with his languid fingers. His record collection consisted of the crooners of the thirties and forties, jazz of the twenties, said musicals, and only select popular jives of his own time consisting mostly of Elvis Presley. His room was perpetually spotless and color-schemed so that his eyes woke up happy and rested in the morning, and he secretly used his late mother's favorite brand of night cream every night before bed to keep his porcelain face flawless. His heart beat to sing, to sing in its natural countertenor voice as opposed to the deep tenor of his peers that he sought to match in public. And oh, how he wished to own the high fashion magazines that girls at school swooned over, to dress like the men in those glossy advertisements.

But alas, Kurt was cursed with the "good" life, the life every adolescent male would kill for.

Kurt would trade it all in for even an ounce of acceptance.

Even his father, the most understanding human being in his life, only knew a certain extent of just how different Kurt really was. Kurt wasn't stupid, he knew his mind and his body perfectly well, and knew exactly what his inner hopes and desires added up to. But Kurt also wasn't oblivious. He knew what people would think if he just came out with it that he loved Broadway, and fashion, that he wanted to become a star or a fashion designer. Quite honestly, he didn't know if he could, or even if he had yet, deal with the reality of what he was. And if he couldn't, then how on earth could his dad, let alone members of the town?

So Kurt settled for just being different. Though he couldn't change who he was on the inside, he changed everything possible on the outside. He conformed to the jeans and the converse, the leather jackets and the burgers, the poppy Rock N' Roll, the grease and the cars. As long as he kept his friends away from his room, his private sanctuary of The Real Kurt Hummel, for the most part Kurt was okay with living a double life.

It wasn't until Blaine Anderson appeared out of nowhere that being different, inside and out, started to be a bit of a problem.


	2. Orange Colored Sky

It was late summer of 1959 in the small town of Lima, Ohio and Kurt was helping his dad in the shop. Burt had taken leave to man the front of the shop only to humor Kurt's neuroses; he was always in constant fear that his father would get overheated if he worked too hard for too long. Burt always obliged, feeling mostly proud that his son worried so about him. Besides, Kurt was old enough now to handle the works in the garage.

So once Burt was safely in the cool interior of the front office, Kurt allowed himself a short break. He wiped the grime and grease on his hands on the spare rag he kept handy, and rolled up the short sleeves of his white t-shirt in addition to the cuffs of his light wash jeans. He popped open a bottle of Coke and clambered onto the hood of the station wagon he had been fixing, leaning back on his elbows and crossing his black high-top covered ankles delicately.

Kurt swigged deeply, enjoying the cool bubbles slicing gently at his throat.

He took advantage of this cherished off-time to make mental to-do lists in his head. After he was done helping out his dad he would hop over to the Ice Cream Bar to meet his buddies for a quick scoop of Pistachio, and shortly after drop by his neighbor Mercedes' house to help her prepare for a date, and finally return home for dinner with the Berry's.

He breathed in the musky summer air and closed his eyes momentarily, simply reveling in the scents and noises of calm his senses picked up.

A slight cough awakened Kurt from his reverie. He turned his head to the entrance of the garage, jumping slightly as his heart began to slam against his chest irrationally.

Out of the bright sunlight and into the muggy shade of the shop stepped a young man just around Kurt's age, a blindingly white smile on his face. His unruly, curly dark hair was somewhat tamed with hairspray, his tan face clean shaven and his grey slacks pressed. A hot pink bow-tie accentuated his black and white checked short sleeved collared shirt. On his finger twirled a set of car keys.

"Hi," he said as Kurt's eyes widened slightly at the sight of him. "My name is Blaine Anderson."

Honestly, who was this guy? People didn't just walk around sporting hot pink bow-ties, Kurt thought, with an odd sort of resentment (which was definitely not because he wished he could pull off that accessory).

Blaine held out a hand when Kurt didn't respond right away. His smile widened impossibly, signaling a magnetic force to pull Kurt off the car to greet him.

"Kurt Hummel," he introduced himself, wondering why his voice was coming out so high and breathlessly when he had trained it to do precisely the opposite around towngoers. He took Blaine's hand to shake it, and categorized the spark he felt from the touch into static electricity of the hot summer air.

He took his hand back and quickly raised it to his hair to straighten his bangs, which hung in his face unless he was alone, slowly and surely behind his ear and out of the way. "What can I do for you, Blaine Anderson?"

Blaine shrugged, grinning. "Well, Kurt Hummel, I was hoping you could take a look at my car. It seems to be... malfunctioning."

"No problem," Kurt said. Gosh, his voice was naturally high, but was it always this squeaky? He cleared his throat self-consciously. "Lead the way," he vaguely gestured with his skinny arms, making use of the long fingers he usually kept in his pockets.

"It's right outside," Blaine returned, turning on his heel to lead Kurt out into the sun.

Kurt nearly gasped when he caught sight of the sleek black '58 Cadillac, but managed to retain composure as he lifted up the hood. He spotted the problem immediately.

"This should be no problem Mr. Anderson," Kurt began, straightening up to find himself face to face with the man himself. He jumped up in alarm and bumped his head on the lifted hood. He cursed under his breath, flushing and rubbing his head.

Blaine chuckled and apologized. "Sorry, I didn't mean to surprise you. I just wanted to take a look for myself. And um, you can call me Blaine. You're probably around my age anyway, right?"

Kurt nodded and closed the hood. "Seventeen."

"Me too."

"So, Blaine. Why haven't I seen you around town?"

"Ah, well," Blaine rubbed the back of his neck as if he had heard the question one too many times. "I just moved here about a week ago, from New York."

Kurt's heart fluttered. The words 'if you can make it there I can make it anywhere' suddenly popped into his head. Because while Kurt had accepted that his duty to his community was to take his father's place in managing the shop, Kurt had dreams for himself, dreams bigger than the population of Lima, Ohio.

But, Kurt reminded himself, small-town folk didn't take kindly to dreams entailing show-biz and fashion. That was why those dreams often stayed close to his heart and no further than that.

He pushed aside his innermost desires to make room to concentrate on his current client. "New York?" he asked, voice breathless once more.

"You're a fan?" Blaine smirked.

Kurt shrugged. "I only aspire to make any living I can there, but other than that-" he swallowed his rambling, instead focusing on asking himself why he had just confessed one of his deepest darkest secrets to a complete stranger.

A complete stranger in a pink bow-tie.

But somehow the complete stranger in a pink bow-tie seemed to empathize. "If you can make it there you can make it anywhere, right?"

Kurt was beginning to feel uncomfortable at this boy's ability to take his breath straight away from his lungs. "Are you my twin separated at birth?" he asked, not bothering to filter word choices through his brain.

Blaine cocked his head to the side, smiling slightly. "I can be, if you like."

Kurt raised delicate eyebrows. "I think I would like that actually," he said confidently. He liked this guy; there was something about his modest confidence that appealed to Kurt's normal sense of misplacement.

Blaine fidgeted happily, grinning widely. "Well if you finish up my car in record time maybe we can hang out. It would be really great to make some friends around here."

"I'd be happy to oblige," Kurt said, smiling haughtily. "Now let's get this baby into the garage."

* * *

><p>"DAD," Kurt hollered in the general direction of the office. "I'm going off duty for the day, alright?"<p>

Blaine's car had been fixed at least thirty minutes ago, but Blaine and Kurt had shared a couple of Cokes over engaging conversation. There was something about Blaine's smile that broke down all of Kurt's barriers, unravelled all of his exteriors. Kurt wasn't sure if he liked it, but it sure was relieving to talk to someone who seemed to enjoy the company of The Real Kurt Hummel.

Burt presently emerged from the office. "No problem, son. Where are you-" his eyes fell on Blaine, who had stood in his presence and was still sipping his Coke. "Who's this?"

"This is Blaine," Kurt explained. "He moved here last week."

"Blaine Anderson, sir," Blaine said enthusiastically, striding to Burt to shake his hand.

"Burt Hummel. Anderson?" Burt clarified. "You Greg's boy?"

Blaine tilted his head in affirmation. "Yes, sir."

"Right. He came in for an oil change a few days ago." Blaine's mouth formed an "oh" as he nodded in comprehension. Burt continued, waving them away. "Go have fun, boys. You showing him around the town, Kurt?"

"The full and unabridged tour," Kurt responded.

Burt nodded and allowed a warm smile to grace his face before stepping back into the office.

"He seems really nice," Blaine said as he hopped into Kurt's '55 baby blue Thunderbird convertible. "Nice ride," he added, stroking the upholstery affectionately.

"Thanks," Kurt said proudly, firming a grip on the steering wheel. "And yeah, my dad's really great. He's really... understanding." He bit his lip. There he was, admitting deep dark secrets again.

Blaine did that head-cock that made him look unnervingly like a puppy. "That's an interesting word choice."

"Yeah, well." Kurt started the car and pulled out of the shop lot. "I'm just different. People around here aren't really keen to different."

"Different how? I mean hey, I can relate," Blaine said, grinning and fingering his pink bow-tie nervously.

"Oh, I don't know. -" he took his eyes off the empty road to glance at Blaine, who was looking at Kurt expectantly. He pursed his lips pensively. "You promise not to joke?"

Blaine shook his head dramatically. "Promise." He held out a hand and Kurt shook it.

"Well let's see. I- oh, that's Breadstix, best Italian food in Lima," he gestured vaguely to the popular hang out spot of his peers. "Anyway, I guess you could say my interests vary slightly from other boys my age."

"How so?" Blaine pressed.

"I care a lot about how I look and what I wear," Kurt blurted out, wanting to get it all out of his system at once. "I love to sing, and I cherish my records and not just the popular ones, oldies and especially Broadway musicals. I have a lot of... friends that are girls-"

"Not girl-friends?" Blaine nudged Kurt playfully.

"Never had one," Kurt said frankly, shrugging. "I've known all of these kids since we were in Kindergarten so that's probably a big factor there. The majority of my close friends are girls, but I mainly hang out with my boys when they're not playing baseball, just because I suck at hand-eye coordination-"

"What's that?" Blaine interrupted, pointing over Kurt to a pastel-colored building.

Kurt lowered Blaine's arm onto his lap. "Can't see," he laughed. Blaine leaned his hand on Kurt's leg to get a closer look. "That's Dellie's. Ice cream, burgers, candy, a jukebox, the works. Aw damn," he said, slapping his head as he stopped at a red light. "I was supposed to meet my crew there for lunch today." He twisted his lips in deliberation. "Oh whatever. I'm sure they'll understand."

Blaine leaned back to his seat and eyed Kurt in concern, squeezing his hand on his new friend's knee. "Are you sure? I didn't mean to stray you away from your plans today."

Kurt patted Blaine's hand. "It's no problem. I can hang with them any day. Today is reserved for showing around the newbie."

"I appreciate it," Blaine smiled, briefly squeezing Kurt's hand before reclaiming it into his own lap. Kurt flexed his tingling hand surreptitiously before returning it to the steering wheel. "Well now you've seen around town. Are you hungry at all? We can head back to my house for some lunch if you'd like."

"Sounds perfect."

* * *

><p>"So I've been telling you a lot about me," Kurt said into his leftover steak and mashed potatoes. "But I don't really know anything about you. Other than the fact that you have a fetish with colorful bow-ties."<p>

Blaine snorted into the spaghetti leftover from last night's dinner at Breadstix. "This coming from the guy who says he's interested in fashion?"

"I could never pull that kind of thing off," Kurt said quietly.

"You could pull off anything you wanted," Blaine said vehemently.

A pause.

"Why did you move to Ohio?" Kurt asked, trying not to smile.

Blaine shrugged and dove back into his pasta. "Oh, I don't know. My parents like to move around a lot, and they have the money to do it. My mom was sick of the city life and my dad found a good job here, so that's that."

"What does your dad do?"

"He's a lawyer."

Kurt nodded. "Impressive."

Blaine smiled bashfully. "Yeah, I guess."

"So what makes you different?" Kurt asked.

Blaine eyed Kurt, the same look Kurt had given him when he was hesitant in the car. Kurt momentarily lost himself in an ocean of hazel, thrown off by the combination of affection and confusion and excitement, stunned by how they mirrored precisely what Kurt was feeling at that moment. Blaine took a deep breath to speak.

The doorbell rang. Multiple times in quick succession.

"Who could that be?" Kurt asked to himself honestly. His father was still at work, and his stepmother was at the market, so-

He ran to the door, Blaine trailing behind, and wrenched it open. No sooner had the door swung in two inches did a group of boys come bursting into the living room.

"Kurt, man, where were you?"

"We were starting to get worried."

"Guys, I-"

"You promised you'd show!"

"Guys-"

"D'you know where mom is? I'm starved."

"GUYS!"

Silence ensued as Kurt raised his voice and held his hands up to his friends, Blaine standing politely in the doorway to the kitchen.

He felt himself relax into a slouched position to match those of his peers. Stuffing his hands into his pockets, he addressed the crowd.

"Sorry I couldn't join you today, fellas. There's a new kid in town and I was showing him around."

At the mention of himself, Blaine eagerly rushed forward. "Blaine Anderson," he said, nodding his head briefly.

Kurt internally cringed when he saw his friend's faces as they took in Blaine. The brawniest of them finally broke the silence. "Nice bow-tie, poindexter."

"Hey," Kurt scolded cooly, slapping his arm and staring daggers at all of them. "Be cool, guys."

Kurt's friends exchanged glances but introduced themselves, and by glancing at Blaine he could tell he was studying them and trying to match names with faces.

"Noah Puckerman," said the brawny boy with a close shaven head. "But it's Puck. Just Puck, or I'll kick your ass."

Before Blaine had time to be scared the tall blonde was already speaking. "Sam Evans," he said, smiling largely.

"Mike Chang," said a pale boy with cropped black hair.

"Finn Hudson," said the tallest brunette. "I'm Kurt's brother."

Blaine folded his brow curiously at Kurt, who clarified, "Step-brother."

There was more silence.

But then Sam spoke up. "Seriously, you ditched us for this-"

"Okay guys, I'll catch up with you later," Kurt said loudly, ushering them back out the door. "I'll make it up to you, I promise. Breadstix on me tomorrow?"

This distracted the boys significantly and they gladly paraded out the door, onto the porch, down the steps, and over the white picket fence.

"Be back in time for dinner with the Berry's," Kurt called to his brother.

Finn froze. "Rachel Berry is coming over?"

Kurt rose his eyebrows knowingly, closing the door on his buddies shoving his brother playfully. He pressed his back against the door, afraid that other forces might unexpectedly attempt to come barging in, and glanced apprehensively at Blaine.

"What was that?" Blaine asked, unsure of whether to smile or not.

"My friends," Kurt said, straightening his back and releasing a breath he didn't realize he had been holding.

Blaine bit his lip thoughtfully. "They didn't seem to like me much."

"Oh, they'll grow on you," Kurt said quickly "They're just not used to newcomers."

"Yeah, I can see that."

"What do you mean?"

Blaine shifted uneasily. "You seemed... different with them."

"I don't know what you're saying," Kurt said, avoiding his gaze.

Blaine shrugged. "It was just a vibe. No big deal." He smiled weakly.

Kurt returned it half-heartedly. He knew exactly what Blaine was saying. He knew how he folded his usually ramrod straight posture, how he hid his graceful piano-trained hands in his pockets, how he allowed his hair to fall in his face, how his voice lowered an octave slightly of its own accord.

But why was it that he didn't feel the need to be like that right now, alone with Blaine?

Looking into those welcoming hazel eyes, he felt the answer. Didn't know it, but felt it in his gut. That feeling bubbled up to the surface, allowing a bright smile to grace his face.

"Let's finish lunch."

* * *

><p>Around four-thirty Kurt drove Blaine back to the shop to pick up his car and head back home. Truthfully, he was hesitant to say goodbye to his new friend; abandoning the fantasy land he had shared all day with Blaine in favor of harsh and unforgiving reality would not be an enjoyable transition.<p>

"Here," muttered Blaine the two walked to the Mustang as he rummaged his pockets. "How much did you say it would be?"

Kurt smiled. "I didn't. No cost."

Blaine's triangular eyebrows knitted together in a frenzy as he dug faster, finally finding some bills. "Kurt, gosh no I really couldn't-"

Kurt pushed the hand of Blaine's that was attempting to shove the bills to him into Blaine's chest. "Consider it a favor for a friend."

That dazzling smile stretched across Blaine's face once again. "Gee, thanks Kurt."

And then he wrapped his arms around Kurt in a hug.

Kurt knew his heart was beating out of pure shock. And nothing else. Because guys didn't just come out and hug each other, so it was a surprise, right? It had nothing to do with the fact that he felt an odd sense of security in Blaine's friendly arms, nothing to do with the smell of hairspray in his dark slick waves, and definitely nothing to do with how Kurt had never been hugged by anyone besides his parents in his whole life.

He hesitantly returned the gesture, but just as soon as he had realized how nice it really felt Blaine was pulling away.

"Thank you so much, Kurt. To tell you the truth I was afraid I would be spending my days here alone because no one would like me." As he fidgeted with his bow-tie again Kurt realized he still knew nothing about Blaine. But there was time for that. There was all the time in the world.

Kurt only smiled naturally in response. "Let's meet up tomorrow. Dellie's at two?"

"It's a date," Blaine smiled goofily, climbing into the car.

This was the start of a beautiful friendship, Kurt thought as he waved at Blaine until he disappeared out of the lot with a last breathtaking smile.

Kurt raced home, enjoying the wind blowing in his hair. He had had more fun today than he had in his whole life. It was so easy to be himself around Blaine, his real self that usually stayed closeted up in his locked room after hours listening to showtunes with night cream on his face. But there was something still nagging in the back of his mind:

_"You seemed... different with them."_

Kurt had easily shifted into his double-personality life over time, so much so that it seemed common nature. He didn't even think about just how different he was until now, and with the blinding smile of Blaine's still etched behind his eyelids he couldn't comprehend exactly what different was. Was different the way he felt on the inside compared to what his friends and peers were like, or was different the way he conformed to society's standards compared to how he acted when he was alone and comfortable?

Kurt threw away the notion frustratedly as he pulled into the driveway of his home. There was always later to review his various personality disorders. He determinedly decided to bask in the afterglow of the day and focus instead on the tasks at hand.

Kurt wrenched off his work clothes immediately upon entering his room, changing into a light-weight cherry red button down and dark-denim blue jeans before venturing out to walk to Mercedes'.

On his way down the hall to the stairs, however, he heard a disgruntled groan that stopped him in his tracks. He knocked lightly on his stepbrother's door before entering.

Finn was facedown on his unmade bed, various articles of clothing strewn around the room. Kurt sighed and began to tidy up the mess.

"Kurt," Finn moaned.

"Yes?" Kurt returned, sitting by Finn's head to fold pairs of slacks.

"Why do the Berry's have to come tonight?" he whined, turning his head to face Kurt.

"Because it's Friday, and that is the day of the week that the Berry's come over for dinner."

"But what do I wear?" Finn sighed.

Kurt's heart skipped. He wasn't sure if he could deal with two wardrobe crisis in one night, especially if one entailed dressing up his step brother who wasn't even really supposed to know Kurt's forte for clothing.

So he changed the subject. "Is this about Rachel?" he asked quietly, putting aside the folded stack of pants.

"Maybe," Finn said in a small voice.

Kurt smirked privately, wondering what he could get out of it if he held this vulnerable chat over his brother's head.

"I don't see why that should matter," Kurt said in mock-apathy. "Since you're going out with Quinn Fabray."

"Just tell me what to wear, okay?" Finn jerked up into a sitting position defensively.

Kurt reddened. "How would I know what to wear?" he squeaked.

Finn rolled his eyes. "I'm not stupid, Kurt. I know you like... clothes." He grimaced ever so slightly, motioning vaguely at Kurt's outfit.

Kurt stiffened, crossing his arms over his chest as if it would hide his tailored shirt. "I... I don't-"

"No, hey," Finn grinned. "You know I'm cool with it. You're my brother."

Kurt peeked at him skeptically, and Finn laughed.

"Alright. If you don't tell about my Rachel thing I won't tell about your clothes thing."

Kurt snorted. "Deal."

Finn got up off the bed. "You know, I bet Puck and Finn would be okay with it." He hesitated. "But your new friend on the other hand... Brian?"

"Blaine," Kurt snapped.

"Blaine, right. He's kinda weird, huh?"

Kurt made to stand up in his irritation but Finn interrupted him by shoving him back down on the bed, grabbing two shirts from his closet and holding them up.

"Blue or green?" he smiled guiltily.

* * *

><p>"Blue or green?" Mercedes sighed exasperatedly.<p>

Kurt sat on his neighbor's bed, experiencing a serious case of de ja vu.

"Neither," he concluded, sliding off the bed. "You need something to complement your skin tone."

Mercedes' skin tone, as it happened, was dark chocolate brown. Though she didn't go to his school, Kurt considered her to be his closest friend. Lima was usually neutral to the whole race issue, but there were those few radicals who leaned to one side or the other. Kurt and his family tended to be accepting to people no matter who they were as long as they were respectable, well-mannered people, so it was only natural that Kurt should make frequent trips next door to visit his best friend.

Mercedes was a voluptuous diva filled to the brim with soul and jazz who shared Kurt's unspoken dream of someday singing for a living. So it didn't really matter to Kurt whether Mercedes was black or white or purple, as long as he had someone who understood, even just a little.

As Kurt rifled through Mercedes' closet, he heard her mother call from downstairs.

"Kurt, honey? Would you like to stay for dinner?"

Kurt hollered back, "No thanks Mrs. Jones, we're having company over tonight. I appreciate the offer, though."

"Mercedes, this boy is so polite. Why aren't you taking him out to dinner tonight?"

"Mom!' Mercedes shouted.

Kurt blushed as he heard laughter downstairs that disappeared into the kitchen.

Mercedes smiled uncomfortably at Kurt, who avoided her eyes by rifling a little faster through the closet.

That was the one reason Kurt couldn't rely solely on Mercedes as a best friend. He knew Mercedes had an almost imperceptible thing for him. They had both managed to overcome a particular situation involving a severe misunderstanding and a rock embedded in Kurt's Thunderbird, and had come out of it better people. Kurt felt almost guilty that he couldn't feel like that about Mercedes. No, not couldn't. Didn't. Just didn't.

There was that harsh reality threatening to kick in again.

But Mercedes understood. She appreciated his friendship all the same, and the small smile she wore now grew into a friendly grin.

"So what will it be?" she asked, nodding toward the closet.

Kurt beamed appreciatively and nudged his head affectionately into her shoulder before he reached in and pulled out a red halter dress that poofed out from the waist.

"Roller-skating, right?" Kurt clarified. "This is perfect. Who's the lucky guy again?" he grimaces at his memory loss.

Mercedes rolled her eyes and claimed the dress from Kurt's arms. "Matt Rutherford. He goes to... my school." She gave him a meaningful look.

"Well Matt is going to find you irresistible in this dress, and I hope to meet him someday."

Mercedes smiled gratefully. "I'm so glad I have you."

"And I you," Kurt returned.

* * *

><p>After apple pie, Mr. and Mrs. Berry tagged along with Burt and Carole to chat in the living room. Kurt swiftly fled the kitchen to leave Finn alone with Rachel, who was looking admittedly pretty in a navy blue and white polka dotted dress with her curly brown hair in pigtails. The last thing Kurt saw before he made leave were Rachel's bright brown eyes trained devotedly on Finn, and Finn's wide eyes pleading helplessly with Kurt.<p>

Once in the safety of his room, Kurt locked the door and ran to his record machine to play his record of choice: Nat King Cole. He showered the long day off of him and changed into pajamas, and applied his night cream before plopping down on his bed to close his eyes and listen to the voice crooning at him from the record machine.

_I was walking along, minding my business_

_When out of an orange-colored sky_

_Flash! Bam! Alakazam!_

_Wonderful you came by_

There was a tap at his window. He pulled open the drapes to view the Mercedes' own window next door. She stood at it in her red dress, holding a piece of paper that read:

_Matt loved the dress! You're a doll 3_

Kurt smiled and made a gun with his thumb and index finger and cocked it playfully at her with an appropriate click through his teeth and a wink before releasing the curtain to allow it to fall back in place.

_One look and I yelled timber_

_Watch out for flying glass_

_'Cause the ceiling feel and the bottom fell out_

_I want into a spin and I started to shout_

_I've been hit, this is it, this is it!_

As Kurt began to doze, his thoughts drifted to Blaine. His confident, purely enthusiastic smile and a lingering scent of hairspray lulled Kurt into a sense that everything would somehow turn out perfectly. This feeling, similar to the one effected by the closeness of Blaine's hug, was the one Kurt finally fell asleep with.

_I was walking along minding my business_

_When love came and hit me in the eye_

_Flash! Bam! Alakazam!_

_Out of an orange-colored sky._

* * *

><p>Hope you're liking it! Please please give me some feedback<em>? :)<br>_


	3. Someone To Watch Over Me

"Want to split a milkshake?" Blaine asked at two the next day. He and Kurt were sitting at the Ice Cream Bar at Dellie's, and Blaine was looking nervously at the oversized glass of chocolate that the couple next to them were sharing.

The sudden vivid image of he and Blaine sitting face to face sharing a milkshake with candy-striped straws that flashed across Kurt's mind was a combination of ridiculous and strangely welcoming.

"Sure," Kurt said, flagging down the barman and attempting to rid his mind of such frivolities. "You can pick the flavor, I don't really have a preference."

"Hi Mr. Brown," Kurt said as the owner of the shop finally came to them. "Give Mr. Anderson here whatever he wants, he's new in town."

"Will do," said Mr. Brown in his frail but kind-hearted voice. "What can I get for you, son?"

"Could you maybe do... a Pistachio milkshake?"

Kurt widened his eyes in surprise as Mr. Brown assented with a laugh and whisked away.

"I didn't know people actually liked pistachio," Kurt smiled.

"They don't," Blaine said glumly. "Only me."

"And me," Kurt corrected. "It's my favorite."

"Twins!" Blaine exclaimed, and there was that blinding smile again.

"How serendipitous is it that the one fella in the world who likes pistachio ice cream just happens to move to Ohio and meet the only other fella who likes it too?" Kurt exclaimed in wonder.

"Guess it was meant to be," shrugged Blaine as Mr. Brown came back with their order. The color of the shake just matched perfectly with Blaine's bow-tie of choice today.

The boys grabbed their straws and dived them into the ice cream. Each claimed a maraschino cherry. Kurt watched, mesmerized as Blaine slowly wrapped his mouth around the fruit and popped the stem off, chewing and savoring the flavor. His jaw moved up and down, up and down, and gosh, why had Kurt never found it so interesting to watch someone eat before?

Blaine flicked his eyes curiously to Kurt, who looked away and smoothed his bangs slowly, swallowing his cherry practically whole. Feeling Blaine's eyes still trained upon him, Kurt looked sideways to meet his glance.

"Last one to tie a knot in the stem with their tongue has to pay?" challenged Blaine.

They poised the stems near their mouths.

"Three, two, one... go!" Kurt shouted, and threw the stem into his mouth.

It was silly that tying a knot with a cherry stem should be so hard, thought Kurt. But it was even sillier that he had to avoid looking at Blaine while he did so, unable to concentrate properly while he watched his mouth work furiously because he was imagining the workings of Blaine's tongue, and he was imagining that tongue working in other places-

Woah. Where did that thought even come from?

While Kurt was distracted with this thought process, Blaine came off the better man. "Aha!" he shouted, pulling his stem out, perfectly knotted in the middle.

"No fair," Kurt pouted, throwing his creased stem aside. "I've never been kissed."

His hands flew up to cover his mouth, and Blaine laughed at his careless blurting of words.

"Hey," he chuckled. "It's not a big deal. It's not all it's cracked up to be anyway."

Kurt glared at him. "You're just saying that."

"No!" Blaine protested. "I'm dead serious. I kissed this girl Sally Hopkins back in New York. Truthfully it was like kissing a fish."

Kurt smiled triumphantly. "Good to know I'm not missing much." He leaned forward to take a sip of the shake and swallowed the cool liquid down his dry throat. "So what do you want to do for a living, Blaine?"

"A lawyer," Blaine responded immediately, but the monotone quality of the way in which it was said and the way he ducked in to sip the shake to avoid his friend's eyes clued Kurt in.

"What do you really want to be?" Kurt allowed the words to tumble out.

Blaine nearly choked on the ice cream as he raised surprised eyebrows. But the deadpan expression on Kurt's face allowed him to respond.

"A jazz singer," he barely breathed, and the passion in those three hushed words hit Kurt harder than a freight train.

"And you?" Blaine asked, knocking Kurt back into place.

"I'm going to take over my dad's shop," Kurt explained.

"And if your dad didn't own a car shop?" Blaine hinted.

Kurt glanced around, making sure there was no one eager to overhear. Then he leaned forward in the pretense of gathering another sip from the shake. Blaine took the hint and leaned forward into his straw as well.

"Would it be worse to say I wanted to be a Broadway star or a fashion designer?" Kurt whispered.

"Finally, someone who understands me!" hissed Blaine. Kurt tried to ignore how the usual passion for life present in Blaine's eyes was magnified tenfold when they were only inches away.

The remainder of the Pistachio shake was enjoyed through hushed whispers of favorite songs and Broadway musicals, and designers and clothes and things unsuitable to be spoken of between two teenage boys. When Mr. Brown finally left with the empty glass, Blaine spoke up.

"So why don't you like baseball?"

Kurt frowned, pulling out the coins to place on the counter. "What do you mean?"

"Yesterday you said you spent all your time with your friends, except when they play baseball." They hopped off the barstools and escaped the cool interior of Dellie's into the baking hot summer sun.

"You remembered," Kurt smiled. "Well I just never really learned to play. I never really had a desire to in the first place."

Blaine cocked his head to the side and paused. Kurt stopped walking as well.

"Why don't I teach you?" Blaine asked.

Kurt blanched. "Oh no. You're kidding around, right? You're talking about tackling the unteachable here, did you know?"

"Come on. If you can reach a high F with your voice, you can play baseball-"

But the last words came out muffled as Kurt clapped a hand over Blaine's mouth. Blaine protested as Kurt brought his other arm around Blaine's back to guide him into walking forward again.

"Are you crazy? People might hear you!" Kurt squeaked desperately.

"Whatever," said Blaine, shoving Kurt's hand away from his face. He lifted his arm around Kurt's shoulders to complement his friend's arm around his back. "Let them listen. Look, it's the least I can do. For you putting up with me and my antics, I can at least give you some baseball lessons."

"I don't put up with you," Kurt countered. "I wouldn't be sharing Pistachio shakes with you if I didn't consider you my buddy."

Blaine smiled triumphantly and shuffled his feet to match perfectly with Kurt's walking rhythm, laughing and chatting all the way until they reached the spot of parting ways.

"So are we going to play ball?" Blaine asked hopefully.

Kurt rolled his eyes and released his arm reluctantly from Blaine to tug at his navy collared shirt. "Let's go home and change into proper clothes and meet at the field in an hour."

"Of course," Blaine said, leaning close. "Wouldn't want to dirty up your precious clothing articles, now would we?"

"Blaine!" said Kurt, blushing because of the comment and not how Blaine's voice had tickled close to his ear.

"Sorry, sorry," Blaine guffawed. "The field's right over there by Joe's Diner, right?" he asked, pointing a thumb over his shoulder as he backed away to Peach Street, where his house resided.

"Right. See you then," Kurt said, and watched Blaine smile wildly and sprint off to get home.

* * *

><p>An hour later found Kurt sitting on the bleachers, leaning back on his shoulders to take up two levels. He whistled to himself, clad in his favorite blue Levis and a tight grey t-shirt. Black wayfarers shielded his eyes from the midafternoon sun and allowed him to surreptitiously spy around for Blaine's approaching figure.<p>

Finally he appeared, shucking two baseball bats over his shoulder with one hand and swinging a pair of gloves in the other. Kurt quickly leveled his gaze straight ahead, away from Blaine, as if he didn't notice him. He didn't want to seem as if he had been desperately waiting for him or anything.

Because that would be weird.

Blaine took a seat beside Kurt. "Sometimes," he said, "I think I'm not cool enough to be hanging with you."

Kurt whipped his head to Blaine, tearing his sunglasses off. "What on earth makes you say that?" he asked, panicking.

Blaine just laughed. "Good to know you were just putting on a show again," he said. "You don't have to be like that around me, you know. I know you like acting like that around your friends but don't feel the need with me, okay?" He smiled warmly.

"I'm sorry, how long have I known you? It's not normal how well you know me after less than twenty four hours," Kurt sniped.

"You are talking about your Pistachio soul mate here," joked Blaine. "Let's get started."

Five minutes in, Kurt remembered again why he hated baseball. All of the balls Blaine pitched him either ended up striking the ground, his head, the fence, and practically anything but the bat.

"Try choking up your grip a little bit," Blaine suggested.

"Like... this?" Kurt asked, adjusting his hands.

"Perfect. One more time."

One more time turned into three, and ten, but Kurt still didn't get it. Keep your eye on the ball, Kurt repeated in his head, but he found it somewhat difficult when his eyes kept getting caught on the curls that were beginning to come loose on Blaine's forehead.

"I told you I'm the unteachable," Kurt apologized, squinting into the sun as Blaine wiped the slight sheen of sweat off his forehead.

"I think it's the way you're swinging," Blaine said, striding over to Kurt and abandoning his glove. He picked up the extra bat and stood beside Kurt. "You have to do it like this, sort of a straight line..."

He demonstrated so. Kurt attempted to mimic his movement and ended up nearly hitting Blaine across the head.

"Okay, okay, careful with that. Here, do it like this."

Blaine dropped his bat and moved to stand behind Kurt. Kurt straightened his posture nervously as Blaine pressed against him to wrap his arms over Kurt's, positioning his hands over Kurt's on the bat.

"Relax," Blaine said. "Hands a little farther apart," he instructed, pulling Kurt's hands to the right position. "Okay. Now pull back-" he pulled his arms back, taking Kurt's with him. Kurt was torn between being glad that his trembling knees were being supported by Blaine's body and being frightened at the way his heart fluttered because of the way Blaine's body was moving with his.

"And swing!" Blaine said low in his ear, swinging their arms in a clean swoop.

"See? Not that hard," Blaine said, and Kurt felt him smile against his neck. There was no logical reason for Kurt's ridiculously speeding heart. No reason at all. But then again, there was no logical reason why Blaine hadn't separated from Kurt yet.

"Blaine, I don't think I can do it-" he turned his head to view Blaine's eyes but lost his voice when he found the hazel eyes closer than he expected.

"Like that," he finished, voice barely audible.

Blaine stiffened slightly, unknowingly bringing himself slightly closer to Kurt. Kurt commanded his limbs to move, to run far away, to end this before-

Blaine's eyes shifted slowly from Kurt's eyes down the bridge of his nose, and had barely rested upon Kurt's dry lips when their grips slackened simultaneously and the bat dropped to the ground with a thud, startling them out of... whatever that was.

Kurt's heart beat hard with uncontrollable fear (or was it anxiety, or nervousness, or something completely, totally different?). There was no doubt now, he definitely knew what that feeling was; a feeling that strong that he had never felt before in his entire life could only mean-

"Let's keep going," Blaine rasped, then cleared his throat. "We can try pitching next."

Kurt stifled down the fear to concentrate, to strive to remember exactly what Blaine did to force his arms to work instead of focusing on how Blaine's arms had forced his arms to work. By the better end of an hour Kurt had even managed to hit the ball once or twice.

"Let's call it a day," he moaned to Blaine as they slumped on the risers to take a break.

"Deal. We'll work on pitching tomorrow?" Blaine asked hopefully.

Kurt rolled his eyes. "Fine."

Blaine smiled his puppy-dog smile, blossoming warm fuzzies in Kurt's stomach. On a caprice he suddenly spat out,

"Would you like to join us for dinner tomorrow?"

"Really?" Blaine enthused.

"Yeah," Kurt smiled. "My stepmom always likes to have company to cook for. And maybe I can show you my records."

That sent Blaine over the edge. "What time?" he asked enthusiastically.

"Seven sharp. Wear whatever you like," Kurt tossed his hand carelessly.

"Totally rad!" Blaine said, hopping off the risers to collect his gear into his hands. "I'll see you tomorrow, then."

"Can't wait," Kurt breathed as Blaine exited the field. He slid his wayfarers back over his eyes and slumped back against the top seat with a groan. What in hell was he getting himself into?

* * *

><p>True to his word, Kurt met his crew at Breadstix that night for dinner ready to pay for the pack of starving animals. All three were waiting for him, slumped into a booth sipping cokes. They waved him over and he slid in next to Finn, across from Puck, Mike, and Sam, picking up the Coke they had ordered for him gratefully.<p>

"You're late, sucker, where were you?" Puck demanded, leaning over to punch Kurt in the arm.

My jeans were still drying, and what an offense it would be to show up not in the unstated uniform.

"Oh you know, around. What are we getting?" he asked quickly as the waitress arrived at their table.

"The usual," Mike replied to Kurt. He turned to the girl and did the most obvious double take Kurt had ever seen. He rolled his eyes as Puck ran his hand over his practically nonexistent hair smoothly.

"What can I get you guys?" asked the waitress who was, admittedly, pretty with tan skin and thick black hair, but not to Kurt's taste.

"Well that depends babe, are you on the menu?" Puck countered. The brunette twirled her hair appreciatively, and he added, "What's your name?"

"Santana," she said airily.

"You free at eight?" Puck said, leaning back in his seat in pre-determined triumph.

"Sure," she trilled coyly.

"We'll have garlic twists and a double order of spaghetti," Sam interrupted the girl's giggles.

"Alright," she lilted, jotting down the order and flouncing off.

"Give me some skin," Finn held out his hand in idolizing wonder, and Puck slammed it indulgently with their signature handshake.

"How do you even do that?" Sam asked in awe.

"Yeah, give us your tips," Finn laughed.

"You have a girlfriend," Kurt scolded.

"You're one to talk, Hummel, where's your girlfriend?" Puck bantered.

Kurt immediately bushed up to his roots. Blaine's face smirking the words _No girl-friends?_ suddenly and irrationally materialized in his head.

"That's right, you're the one who's in need of some action," Mike interjected.

"Let's find our Kurt a girl!" Puck shouted, holding a mighty fist in the air as Kurt slid down as gracefully as possible in his seat.

"That's alright, actually, I'm just fine," he said loudly.

"Kurt, the almighty king of lady-killers has offered to bless you with his knowledge," Sam gasped in mock-admiration.

"How dare you deny his influence!" Finn chuckled, playing along.

"Cut it out guys," Puck interjected, leaning over to pull Kurt back up into sight by the scruff of his leather jacket. "Kurt's my boy, and I'd do anything for his well-being."

Everyone was silent for a moment before the entire table burst out into laughter at the softness of the statement coming from tough-guy Noah Puckerman.

"But seriously, Hummel," Puck said in between guffaws. "That reminds me, we need to talk." He nudged Sam and eyed Finn seriously.

"Yeah," Sam said, whipping out a comb to smooth his hair nervously.

Finn was silent, munching on a complementary breadstick.

"That Blaine guy," Puck said blatantly, causing Kurt's heart to splutter into hysterical pumping.

"What's up with him?" Mike added.

Kurt remembered his conversation with his brother the night before and whipped his head dangerously to Finn, who cringed ever so slightly, chewing faster. I turn my back for one minute, Kurt thought angrily, and my friends decide to plot behind my back.

Fortunately, Kurt was an expert at playing cool when necessary.

"Like I said, he's new around here. He came in to get his car fixed and we got to talking, so I thought I'd show him around. You guys got a problem with that?"

The conversation paused awkwardly. As if on cue, Santana appeared with her food, smiling when Puck winked at her.

The boys dug into the bowl hungrily while Kurt delicately tore a piece of garlic twist into his mouth. He almost didn't catch the significant look Puck threw Finn before his step-brother spoke.

"You've gotta ditch him."

Kurt snorted, almost inhaling his breadstick. "You're joking, right?"

But when Kurt turned to scrutinize Finn, his eyes were determinedly fixed onto the spaghetti.

"Woah, are you serious? What's so wrong with Blaine?"

"He's uncool!" Sam burst out. "He wears bowties for Pete's sake-"

"What would you do if I wore bowties?" Kurt interrupted defensively, feeling a sudden sense of hot injustice in his gut.

The silence was short lived as Finn changed the subject quietly. "We just don't want you hanging out with the wrong crowd."

"The wrong crowd?" Kurt asked in a low, venomous voice. "And what exactly is the 'wrong crowd,' Finn? Anyone who's 'weird?' That's what you called Blaine last night, right?"

Sam suddenly turned on Finn. "You talked to him already? I thought we planned to do this together!"

"You planned this?" Kurt squeaked, but caught himself and cleared his throat to lower his voice. "All this fuss over one guy?"

"One geeky poindexter," Puck corrected. "We care about you, Kurt. I know we laughed about that earlier but it's true. We like hanging out with you. But if people see you hanging around with nerds like him twenty-four/seven they won't think you're cool and you won't be able to hang with us anymore."

"You didn't seem to care about me this much before I became Finn's step brother," Kurt lashed out sarcastically.

"Any friend of Finn's is a friend of ours," Mike stated loyally.

Kurt sneered. "Oh yeah? Well why don't you swallow your own words then, because obviously the same rules don't apply to me. Blaine is my friend, and if you guys got a problem with him then I'm out," he fumed, and added quietly, "I never asked for all of this anyway," as he dug in his jacket pockets for cash.

"Hasta la vista," he spat, and threw all the money he had on the table. "Keep the change."

He gave one last sharp glare at all of his so-called friends, snatched up the basket of garlic twists, and stormed out of the restaurant.

* * *

><p>"I know you're there, Finn."<p>

Kurt lounged idly on his bed with his hands in his lap, night cream on his face and wearing pajamas. Frank Sinatra blasted from his record player, but Finn was breathing so loudly behind the door that it was impossible not to hear.

"Can I come in?" Finn asked hesitantly.

"I suppose," Kurt sighed, though he had left the door unlocked specifically for this moment. Finn did a good enough job of keeping his personal life and his social life separate most of the time, so Kurt figured it would be alright if he let his door-locked-at-all-times-after-nine policy slide for one night as long as it was for a good reason.

And it would be a good reason, Kurt realized, as Finn appeared with a sheepish look on his face. Kurt closed his eyes when his brother flopped down onto the small couch in the corner by the record player.

"Hey," he mumbled, turning down the record machine slightly.

"Hi," Kurt drawled, eyes still closed.

There was a pause as the music continued to play.

_I'm a little lamb who's lost in the wood_

_I know I could always be good_

_To one who'll watch over me_

"Why do you wear that stuff on your face?" Finn asked.

Kurt almost jumped in surprise, but remembered that Finn had already seen him once by accident covered in the stuff. It was a moment neither of them had been keen to dwell on, and Kurt wondered why Finn was only bringing it up now when they had more pressing issues to discuss.

"If I didn't I would be living with a pizza face," he began, "And if I looked like that I obviously would be too weird to be a part of your crew," he finished harshly, eyes flying open to glare at the hulking mass on his couch.

Kurt could practically hear Finn flinch.

"I'm sorry about those guys," he finally said.

"Those guys?" Kurt scoffed. "You're the one who told me to ditch Blaine."

"Because Puck said you'd listen if it was me," Finn countered.

"And why do you have to carry out Puck's every command?" Kurt asked indignantly, sitting up against the pillows.

Finn's mouth twisted in hesitation before he said quietly, "They're all I have." When Kurt raised his eyebrows and opened his mouth to argue he added, "Look, Kurt. You have Mercedes from next door, and all those other people at school who like you, like Brittany the cheerleader and Artie the wheelchair guy and now you even have Blaine, so without Puck or Sam or even me you'd be fine because you don't care what people think of you."

"I do care," Kurt said quietly. Of course he cared, why else would he change who he was to fit the status quo?

"But you don't need to look 'cool' to feel cool," Finn clarified. "And that's fine but without them I don't have anyone. They're my only friends, and they give me my cool-guy image, you know?"

"That's so shallow, Finn," Kurt said sadly. "You can do better than that."

Finn went on as if he hadn't heard him. "I just want you to know that I don't mind you hanging out with Blaine. He seems like a nice guy, and maybe I'll... put in a good word for him or something. With the guys. I think they'll come around."

"I doubt it," Kurt said darkly. "I don't know why you'd bother."

Finn smiled lopsidedly. "Family first, always," he said.

Kurt allowed a small smile. "Thanks, Finn."

Finn grinned before sitting up and turning the volume back up. "Night," he said as he closed the door behind him.

"Night," sighed Kurt.

_Follow my lead, oh how I need_

_Someone to watch over me._


	4. Something Good

"Well, what are you going to do now?"

"I don't know." Kurt's response to Mercedes' query was muffled as he continued to work on the station wagon from two days ago. "That's why I need your advice."

"Well you're really keen on this Blaine guy?" Mercedes clarified.

"He's the best thing that's ever happened to me besides you," Kurt rolled himself out from underneath the car to smile lovingly at Mercedes.

"Aw shucks," Mercedes swatted the air with her hand. "But if you're serious about that, then the guys aren't worth it."

"That's what I tell myself but it's just weird to think of life without them now," Kurt said, rolling himself back under the car.

"But if they're making you choose between them and him, then they're probably not really good friends anyways," Mercedes offered.

"I guess," said Kurt softly.

"What was that?" Mercedes asked, and Kurt rolled back out to speak clearly.

"It's just good to have a support team, I guess. Even though they're priorities are jacked up they have good intentions." He rolled back under.

"Well alright then let's talk about you, not them," Mercedes tried. "Who's company do you enjoy more?"

Kurt was silent.

"Honey, come out here and speak to me properly, I can't here you," Mercedes commanded.

"I didn't say anything!" Kurt protested, but Mercedes wasted no time in pulling Kurt out from under the car herself.

"Ouch, christ- okay, okay, I'm here!" Kurt huffed, standing up and wiping muck off his hands before raising his fingers to straighten his bangs.

"Can I get a root beer?" she asked.

"Sure, you know where it is. Grab me one, too."

Mercedes had taken to visiting Kurt once a week at the shop. It had turned into their summer tradition, just chatting over root beers when she got sick of talking to Kurt through the car.

They reclined on the hood of the sturdy station wagon. "So who is it?" Mercedes pushed. "Your brother's crew or Blaine? Who would you rather spend time with, right now?"

"Blaine, without a doubt," Kurt said, shaking his head with resolution.

"Now we're getting somewhere. Why?" Mercedes nodded him on.

Kurt took a deep breath. "Well, he just gets me. You know how after knowing each other for a while you knew almost everything about me?" Mercedes nodded, and he continued. "Well, it's like that, except Blaine knew everything about me in ten minutes."

Mercedes smiled slowly. "Well then that must mean something," she said confidently. "And you shouldn't ditch a special connection for some boneheads who care more about their image than you."

Kurt's heart welled up with adoration and he slung an arm around his best friend.

"I think I knew that from the beginning," Kurt sighed. "I just needed someone level-headed to knock it into me."

"I'm here every Monday," she smiled, laying her head on his shoulder.

Kurt kissed her head matronly and lay his head atop it. This was why he was friends with girls, he thought, because they would never break his heart.

* * *

><p>"Did you know I was the lead in all of my school plays back in New York?"<p>

Kurt looked up in surprise. He and Blaine had been walking in comfortable silence for around ten minutes, just strolling away from the shop where Blaine had met him and enjoying each other's company.

"Were you?"

Blaine nodded. "And everyone loved me for it. Something tells me it won't be the same here."

Kurt gave him a sympathetic look that affirmed Blaine's worries. "Are you still going to try out?"

"Well, sure," Blaine said, giving Kurt a confused look. "Why wouldn't I?"

Kurt was taken aback. "Well I would have assumed that you wouldn't if people thought less of you for it."

Blaine smiled knowingly up at Kurt. "That's what _you _would do, Kurt."

"Well then what would _you_ do, Blaine?" Kurt countered, nudging him lightly.

Blaine shrugged, trying to match the pace of his feet with Kurt's. "I wouldn't sacrifice something I loved doing just because people wouldn't like me for it." He paused, and seeing Kurt's tension he quickly added, "Not that I'm saying that's how people should think, that's just what I personally believe."

"I guess it depends," Kurt said slowly, "On what the situation is."

Blaine cocked his head. "What do you mean?"

Kurt swayed a little stiffly. "Oh, I don't know... it would be easy to buy a car that no one liked if you liked it, things like that are no brainers. But... say if..." he gulped imperceptibly. "You were going steady with a person your parents didn't approve of."

"Depends on how much you care about the person," answered Blaine easily. He began to snap the black suspenders over his baby blue shirt idly.

"How can you care about someone more than your parents? I mean, no matter how much you love or don't love your parents there's always that element of respect that places them above anyone in your life," Kurt pointed out.

"Good point," Blaine admitted. "But what about love?" he asked, as if he were speaking of the weather, looking directly at Kurt.

Kurt's heart stuttered. What if he could tell him, tell him everything that was running through his brain right now, every single little change his heart made, every feeling that was coursing in and out of his veins?

Kurt bit his lip and looked down at Blaine's eager eyes. Not yet. Eventually, but not yet.

"I'm not sure if I know enough about it to speak of it," Kurt finally said.

Blaine laughed. "Fair enough."

"So... you like acting," Kurt decided to change the subject. "What else do you like?"

"Huh," Blaine squinted thoughtfully. "I feel like I've told you this already."

Kurt shook his head. "Never."

"Well that's probably because I like the same things you do, then," Blaine suggested. They turned from Kurt's street onto Main Street, where all the main shops resided.

"Let's see, singing, acting, old music, Disney movies-"

Kurt stopped short, and Blaine turned back to eye him questioningly.

"My hero," was all Kurt could gasp.

Blaine laughed and began to walk again, Kurt jogging to catch up. "Oh yeah," he affirmed. "Snow White, Pinocchio, Peter Pan, all those."

"What else?" Kurt asked eagerly.

"Bowties," Blaine said seriously. "I love bowties."

"How many bowties would you say you own?" Kurt asked.

"At least thirty," Blaine said gravely. "In all sorts of colors."

"Can I borrow some?"

Blaine pursed his lips and exhaled thoughtfully. "I don't know if they would match your style," he said, perusing Kurt's white shirt jeans.

Kurt looked away quickly, focusing hard on the sidewalk beneath their feet.

"Your street style," Blaine clarified. "I'm sure they'd do nicely on you when you're alone with me."

Kurt blinked blankly at the frankness of Blaine's statement.

Blaine ignored his silence and kept going.

"Anyway, I like all of those things. But I also like baseball and football, and cars."

"What do you miss most about New York?" Kurt queried.

Blaine sighed as they finally reached Dellie's. They took up their usual spot at the bar.

"Glee club, definitely," Blaine said finally. Mr. Brown brought them their Pistachio milkshake, just as usual.

"Are you joking?" Kurt scoffed, chewing his maraschino cherry.

"Not at all," Blaine said, chewing his own. They glanced at each other and popped the stems into their mouths automatically, tongues working furiously.

"I don' shee why we bodah' doin' 'dis," Kurt slurred. "Youah' alwaysh goin' to-"

"Finished!" Blaine shouted, pulling out the perfect knot. "You're paying."

Kurt huffed, spitting out his stem.

"Hey," Blaine chuckled, "It's not my fault your tongue is not as talented as mine."

And there was Kurt's stomach, doing inexplicable things again. Kurt blushed furiously. "So why do you miss Glee club?" he offered, changing the subject.

"Something about hearing your voice blend perfectly with everyone else's," Blaine began, sipping his shake and gesturing his hands enthusiastically as he swallowed.

"It's just like... you feel like you belong somewhere. You know?"

"Sounds nice," Kurt said quietly, thinking that he knew the exact feeling when he sang along even to voices from the record machine.

Blaine tilted his head to observe Kurt. "You should join."

Kurt only just kept himself from spitting his shake all over Blaine's black bowtie. "What?" he shrieked.

"You have a beautiful voice, Kurt," said Blaine passionately. "I don't think you even realize it. I don't have to hear you sing to know you're good, I can see just from listening to you talk! If singing is what you love to do, then who's to stop you?"

_The world? Puck, Sam, and Finn? My dad? _Kurt listed in agony.

Blaine seemed to read his mind. "Anyone who tries to stop you from what you love doing obviously doesn't love you."

"I know," Kurt said in a low voice. He had heard it from Mercedes. But hearing it from Blaine meant something different. It was almost like looking in a mirror and hearing the words come out of his reflection.

"Maybe that's what love is," Blaine said, sipping from his straw. "Supporting someone no matter what they're decisions are, steering them in the right direction?"

"But how do you know what the right direction is?" Kurt said past the growing lump in his throat.

Blaine noticed the mistiness in Kurt's eyes and cautiously gripped Kurt's arm. He smiled supportively.

"That's something only you can decide."

* * *

><p>Upon finishing his shower after Dellie's, Kurt pondered his wardrobe. He didn't plan on going out anywhere for the rest of the day, but it had to be classy enough for dinner, which, inconsequentially, Blaine would be attending. Why he felt the need to impress Blaine was beyond Kurt, but he never denied the instinct to be fashionable.<p>

He ended up in a pair of light grey slacks and a light green-and-white striped oxford shirt rolled up at the cuffs, inspired not by Blaine's bowtie from yesterday but by his own personal favorite ice cream flavor that just happened to be Blaine's as well.

Once his hair was perfectly styled by means of hairspray, Kurt streaked down the stairs to scrounge around for lunch. It turned out that his stepmother had beat him to it.

"Hi, Kurt," she beamed happily, glowing like the sun in a yellow dress.

"Hi Carole," Kurt smiled back, unable to resist her sun-shiney warmth. "Are you making lunch?"

"I heard you come home and got started right on it," she said, gesturing to a plate on the table as she peeled potatoes. "I hope you're alright with grilled cheese?"

The pristine combination of crispiness and meltiness that hit Kurt's nose as he sat down in front of the meal was simply mouthwatering. "Looks delicious. Thanks, Carole."

"Anytime, honey. Do you know if Finn will be home for lunch?"

Kurt swallowed his first bite. "I think I spotted him at Joe's Diner on the way home, so I think no."

Carole sighed. "I swear that boy is spending so much time out of the house."

"Fresh air will do him good," Kurt suggested quickly. "Um, Carole, do you mind if I have a friend over for dinner tonight?"

She turned from her potato peeling. "Well of course, sweetie. The more the merrier." She turned back to her work. "Who are you inviting?"

"His name is Blaine Anderson," Kurt said, taking more of the sandwich into his mouth. "And he's-"

"Don't speak with your mouth full, dear," Carole interrupted.

"Sorry," Kurt apologized, and swallowed. "He just moved to Ohio about a week ago. I think you'll like him."

"What's he like?" Carole asked, now focusing on pulling out the roast from the fridge.

"Oh, you know. Easy-going, charming, funny, polite. The parent-charmer type."

Carole laughed. "He sounds too good to be true," she said.

"Sometimes I wonder if he is," Kurt muttered almost incoherently, but Carole caught it. She turned to Kurt knowingly.

"I'm glad you've made a new friend, Kurt. Sometimes I wonder if those friends of yours, your brother included, are doing you any good."

Kurt looked up at her, startled. He had never mentioned anything about his friends to his stepmother before. But then again, he knew mothers to be particularly observant of their sons' lives.

"Friends that love you for who you are are hard to come by," Carole instructed softly.

Kurt lowered his gaze to his empty plate. Ever since both Mercedes and Blaine had told it to him today, he knew this was true, and honestly it was because he knew he was quite ready at any time to be rid of his 'friends' with the drop of a hat to have Blaine's friendship. But to be done with a lifestyle he had grown accustomed to, to completely cut out the part of his life that was "normal" in society seemed too big a feat to accomplish just like that. What would he be like when he didn't have to man up every day for his friends; would he still be able to put on a farce for the world, for his father, when he was himself with Blaine? Would he have to? What would happen if he didn't?

Carole set a glass of grape juice in front of Kurt, smiling and smoothing a piece of stray hair from his otherwise styled 'do lovingly. He smiled weakly, and she kissed his forehead before going back to work.

Kurt sighed and brought his plate to the sink.

Every way he turned, he faced an identity crisis. Was there no way to win in this world he had created for himself?

"I look forward to meeting Blaine tonight," Carole said as Kurt made to leave the kitchen. He paused to look back at her as she continued. "If he's everything you say he is."

Kurt smiled and said wryly, "Oh, trust me, he is. He's everything, and more,"

* * *

><p>Blaine appeared at Kurt's doorstep at precisely seven o clock dressed in a charcoal oxford shirt rolled up at the sleeves, light grey slacks, a periwinkle bowtie, and an eager-to-please smile.<p>

"Great, we're just sitting down for dinner," Kurt smiled, ushering him in.

"Kurt," Carole called as he steered Blaine to the kitchen. "Did you get the door?" She turned away from the roast and immediately spotted the boy beside her step son.

"Oh, you must be Blaine," she exclaimed, untying her apron to reveal a sunny yellow dress. Blaine smiled and tipped an imaginary hat to her. "Pleasure, Mrs. Hummel."

"So nice to have you here," Carole cooed, clasping Blaine's hands before turning to carry the roast to the gingham cloth covered tabletop. "How are you enjoying Lima?"

"It's wonderful, Mrs. Hummel. Everyone is so generous. It's a nice change from city life."

"I'm glad you're happy here," said Carole genuinely. "Now, boys, will you set the table? Your brother and father should be down in a minute."

Kurt and Blaine set to their task, working from the heads of the table in. When they met halfway at the final plate Blaine's hand briefly brushed Kurt's as they fought for the last spot. Their eyes flicked to meet once before Kurt cleared his throat.

"Carole, the table's set."

"Perfect timing," she said as she lay mashed potatoes, and corn on the cob on the table. "Here are Burt and Finn."

"Wow Mom, this looks amazing," said Finn, plopping down into a chair and grabbing his cutlery eagerly. "Oh, hey Blaine," he added in afterthought.

"Nice to see you again, Finn," Blaine smiled.

"How's your father, Blaine?" Burt asked, claiming the head of the table across from his wife.

"Just fine, sir," said Blaine, and he and Kurt took the two seats beside each other across from Finn.

"He and your mother don't mind you missing dinner?"

"Not at all," Blaine said, piling food onto his plate, and added after swallowing his first bite, "But they might mind missing out on this food! This is amazing, Mrs. Hummel."

"Thank you dear," Carole blushed.

"Tell them to join you next time you come over for a meal, then," Burt said, smiling. Kurt didn't know exactly why his father's approval of Blaine made him feel so accomplished.

"So what were you kids up to today?" Burt asked.

"The usual," said Finn vaguely.

"I taught Kurt to play baseball yesterday," Blaine offered.

Burt's silverware clanged messily onto his plate. "You what?"

"Taught Kurt to play baseball, sir." He tugged a little at his collar. "That's- that's alright, isn't it?"

"Alright?" Burt exclaimed, ignoring Kurt's muttered protest. "That's just brilliant! Congrats, Anderson, I've been offering to teach Kurt for years but not once has he ever given in."

"Because I stink at baseball," Kurt muttered, rolling his eyes.

"He seemed fine with it when I asked him," Blaine said, eyeing Kurt curiously.

"Well good," Burt finalized. "I'll be damned if my son can't play baseball." But the way Burt smiled at Kurt meant that he really couldn't care either way.

Dinner passed in amiable chatting and laughter, even after the food had disappeared from the plates. Kurt took advantage of the first lull in conversation he could find.

"Dad, do you mind if Blaine and I hang around in my room a while before he has to get home?"

Burt looked up in the exact surprise Kurt had been expecting. He knew exactly what was running through his father's head: Kurt never invited friends to his room.

"Sure thing, son," he said, attempting to pry through Kurt's unyielding eyes. "Don't keep Blaine too late, I'm sure his parents will want him home at a reasonable hour."

"Yes, sir," Kurt affirmed before stealing away.

He led Blaine up the stairs and down the hall, hesitating only slightly before pushing his door open. The first thing Blaine did was sprint over to Kurt's record collection.

"Golly gee whiz!" he exclaimed. "I think I just landed in heaven!" He rifled eagerly through the records.

Kurt chuckled, closing the door. "Put on whatever you like, I've heard them all about twenty times."

"This one," Blaine stated confidently, sliding out the record and tossing the case into Kurt's hands. Kurt observed the pristine cover of his current favorite musical and smiled.

"The Sound of Music?"

"I saw it on opening night," Blaine breathed, holding the record dramatically to his chest before placing it on the player.

Kurt lowered himself straight onto the rug that covered the wood floor, stretching out and clutching the record cover to his chest. The record began halfway into the musical, and Blaine joined him on the floor, sighing in content.

"This is nice," he said.

"Mmmm," Kurt agreed as Maria's voice filled the room.

"Kurt?" Blaine asked.

"Mmmm," Kurt repeated, letting his eyes slide shut.

"You don't normally let friends in here, do you?"

Kurt pursed his lips together. "No," he said after a silence.

Blaine didn't respond, but somehow Kurt took this to mean he understood. After a few moments of simply listening to the song in silence, it came to Kurt's attention that Blaine had begun to sing along as Captain VonTrapp's voice made its appearance. His eyes flew open in surprise.

_Here you are standing here_

_Loving me_

_Whether or not you should_

Kurt's eyelids fluttered shut and he clutched the record closer to his chest. He listened, enraptured, to Blaine's roughly silken voice, flawless at every turn. It effected a swelling, rising feeling in his chest, a sense of complete and total bliss that coursed through his veins and pounded in his head. The euphoria became so strong that all he could think to do was release the pressure building in his chest by means of what he loved most:

_So somewhere in my youth or childhood _

_I must have done something good_

Blaine turned his head in awe as the countertenor voice joined in at Maria's part, matching and even dominating her voice. Never before was a more beautiful sound heard than when their voices rose and fell and melted together.

_Nothing comes from nothing_

_Nothing ever could_

Kurt released his hand from the record and let it fall to the side. He expected coarse fabric but was met instead with warm skin.

_So somewhere in my youth or childhood_

He was so lost in the song that he didn't realize when Blaine intertwined their fingers together.

_Or childhood..._

Kurt turned his head to meet Blaine's gaze.

_I must have done something..._

Blaine just barely remembered to join in.

_Something good._

Even though the music was over Kurt still felt the tug at his heartstrings caused by the melody of their voices. He squeezed Blaine's hand experimentally, and thrilled at how Blaine's fingers thread deeper into his own. It was a moment suspended in time, a moment that mean nothing and everything, that would change all and none. Blaine looked deep into Kurt's eyes, stroking his thumb absentmindedly.

And then the jubilant tune of the next song began and the moment was over. The boys reclaimed their hands faster than lightning itself.

"I should go," Blaine swallowed. "My parents want me home by nine."

"Yeah," Kurt breathed, sitting up and smoothing his hair. "Yeah, okay. I'll walk you to the door."

They made their way downstairs in silence. Kurt's heart beat like a drum as if he were awaiting judgement day itself.

"Well, goodbye," Kurt said shakily, holding open the door for Blaine.

"Bye Kurt," Blaine said, and eyed Finn to make sure he was oblivious in favor of the television set in the living room before squeezing Kurt's hand.

"Dellie's tomorrow, same time?" he blurted out.

"Yes," Kurt gasped quickly, swallowing loudly. Yes, he thought, today, tomorrow, the next day, every day-

There was a new sparkle in Blaine's smile as he released Kurt's hand and backed out the door into the night.

It wasn't until Kurt had locked himself safely in his room that he allowed his hand, blessed by Blaine's, to grasp at his heart, aching with fullness. The Sound of Music still issued from the record player, and there was a brief moment of giddy excitement that rushed through Kurt as Maria sang about confidence in sunshine before terrifying reality settled in, the ever-present killjoy.

Yes, Kurt thought, different was definitely going to be an issue.

* * *

><p><em>Hope you're enjoying it! P.S., it's really helpful to listen to the song (Something Good, from The Sound of Music) while you read the scene. <em>;)


	5. Bella Notte

_I'm literally dying with happiness over the reviews; honestly I didn't think anyone would actually even read this. So everyone, reviewers or not, thanks so much for the inspiration.3_

_I think it's about time for some angst. I know there should be so much more considering Kurt and Blaine's situation, but it's just so. So. So. So hard for me to write because I hate to put my OTP through pain. :( But not everything can be cute and fluffy when you're dealing with unpopular opinion in the fifties so here's the first, safe attempt. Don't worry, it ends with... well. Haha you'll see 3 Also, where the story title came from is in this chapter. This is just a jam packed chapter, is what I'm trying to say. Alright stop sifting through my rambling and read. \o/  
><em>

* * *

><p>Have you ever had a secret, a secret so big and so wonderful and so unreal that you just simply have to tell someone, except there's no one to tell?<p>

That was precisely how Kurt felt in the week to come.

Because how on earth could he explain to anyone the warm feeling low in his stomach contrary to cold Pistachio milkshakes he shared with Blaine every day?

How could he explain the swoopy feeling in his stomach when the curls broke loose of their order on Blaine's forehead while they played baseball? Or the sense of right in the world when he walked down the street in time with Blaine, or the electric current that ran through his body when they held hands singing along to records every other day that they weren't practicing baseball? They were feelings incomprehensible even to Kurt, so how could anyone else understand? The only one who even might understand would have been Blaine himself, but of course that was out of the question considering that Blaine was the one person Kurt staunchly felt should not know about these feelings for the fear that they would not be reciprocated.

And so Kurt was landed with the secret. The one secret that should not be kept private under any circumstances, the one thing that every person should be allowed to announce to the whole wide world from the rooftop:

_Hey, world! I'm in love!_

Love. What did Kurt know of love? Kurt knew nothing and everything. He knew what Broadway musicals and Disney movies told him, that true love was instant and forever. But such sources also told him that true love was shared between a man and a woman, the prince and the princess. And that was what society believed in as well.

So maybe yelling it out from the rooftops wasn't such a good idea.

Besides, Kurt convinced himself one night as he marinated in night cream to the tune of Something Good from The Sound Of Music, holding hands and playing baseball and eating ice cream didn't add up to love.

But if electric touches and stolen glances and shared smiles weren't love, then what was?

"Blaine, what is love?"

Kurt and Blaine were sitting on the floor leaning against the bed, hands twined on a Saturday afternoon, exactly a week from the day they had first met. The afternoon sun filtered into Kurt's room through both windows, dappled by the trees swaying in the breeze that drifted in and out of the open windows. Louis Armstrong's trumpet played out for the world to hear on the record player, and Kurt's heart beat wildly in anticipation, hoping Blaine wouldn't see the question for what it really was.

Blaine pondered the query that Kurt had been building up the nerve to ask, rubbing circles into Kurt's thumb thoughtfully and murmuring the words to Mack the Knife under his breath.

"I don't know, Kurt," he said finally. "It's tough. I'll get back to you on that one."

Kurt nodded silently. Even Blaine didn't have the answers.

Kurt realized that on top of the double-life world he had created for himself, he had created a fantasy life to turn to whenever he was with Blaine. The difference between the two was that Kurt didn't even care about the latter; as long as Blaine was in his life nothing else mattered.

Other than keeping up appearances for the world.

Kurt banged his head against the wall as he mulled all of this over on his couch when Blaine went home. There was no way to win, and he had thought of every which way he could think of. Every solution lead to a choice that Kurt had to make:

_Reality or Fantasy?_

Well that was stupid, he figured, because he was only seventeen and seventeen year-olds should not have to deal with philosophical things like these in their lives.

Meanwhile, Kurt still had to deal with grief from his crew, or the lack thereof. He hadn't heard from any of them since Monday at Breadstix, even from Finn because of the amount of time Kurt had been spending with Blaine, and Finn with Sam, Puck, and Mike. The only time they actually were in the same room together was at the dinner table, but then of course the subject of the fight never came up then.

But Kurt knew that didn't mean this was over. The time spent avoiding the situation was only escalating the issue and it would be that much uglier when the day arrived to sort things out. But Kurt wasn't rushing things. He dreaded the day that he would have to pick between the boys and Blaine, or in other words, Kurt admitted begrudgingly, reality or fantasy.

And finally, exactly a week from the Tuesday that school would start, that day came.

The record of choice today was George Gershwin. Kurt sat on the floor perusing a Seventeen magazine that he had managed to swipe from Mercedes' room. Blaine lay on his stomach on Kurt's bed, running his hand through Kurt's hair with the hand that dangled from the bed as he began to doze off.

"Man, your hair is really soft," he marveled sleepily.

"I didn't put any grease in today," Kurt explained. "If I had, I would have cut off your hand by now."

Blaine chuckled appreciatively.

And then the doorbell rang.

Kurt sighed and got up to venture downstairs but Blaine caught his hand just in time.

"Let your mom get it," he said.

"My mom's playing bridge at the Pierce's house, " Kurt blinked.

Blaine paused. "Let your dad get it," he tried.

Kurt felt his face warm at the desperate spark in Blaine's eye. "He's at the shop," he smiled.

"Finn?"

"Out with Sam and Puck and Mike."

The doorbell rang again.

"Ugh, fine," Blaine grumbled, releasing Kurt's hand. "Don't be long."

"Why, will you miss me?" Kurt was unable to resist. If he hadn't known better, he would have thought Blaine flushed the tiniest bit.

"No, " he said indignantly, leaning down to pick up the abandoned magazine. "It's just impolite to keep your company waiting."

Kurt rolled his eyes and stalked out of the room.

He nearly had a heart attack upon finding Puck, Sam, Mike, and Finn waiting for him at the door, leather jackets and all.

Kurt could practically hear himself gulping the fear down.

Sam looked as if he were about to speak, but got thrown off temporarily. "Man, what the hell are you wearing? And why's your hair all messed up?"

Kurt barely contained his urge to wrap his arms self-consciously around his navy polo and white slacks. Instead he attempted to flatten down his hair.

"Oh, well, I-"

"Nevermind," Puck interrupted. "Ben-Hur is showing at the drive in tonight and we're going out for Dellie's before. Go get changed and let's go."

Kurt's jaw fell open.

"Don't stand there looking like a fish, hop to it!" Mike urged.

Kurt knew he would have to choose eventually, but he didn't plan on having to make the decision in a split second. His mind flashed to Blaine, lounging in his room at that very moment, and back to the three hopeful boys in front of him. Here they were inadvertently apologizing for their antics and welcoming him back in no questions asked; but there was Blaine, begging for him to come back, singing songs with him...

_Who would you rather spend time with, right now?_

Mercedes' words flew across his mind and the answer was obvious: Blaine. Today, tomorrow, the day after, every day.

And then it hit Kurt.

That was reality. Blaine was reality, how Kurt felt around Blaine was reality. Blaine was who Kurt really was. Blaine was Kurt's love for music and singing and fashion. Blaine was who he enjoyed spending time with. Kurt didn't have to choose between fantasy and reality; Blaine represented _both_ and how _stupid_ of Kurt not to realize it in the first place!

"Sorry, fellas," Kurt said after his split-second of debate."I'm busy today. Go have fun without me."

But when he tried to slam the door in their faces Puck swung it right back open.

"What do you mean you're busy?"

"I mean I have no time to spend with you guys," Kurt asserted.

"You're blowing us off? We're your boys, Hummel!" Sam put in.

"We miss you," Finn chimed in.

"Is it the movie?" Mike asked. "We don't have to go if you don't want. We could just hang at my place for a smoke. Does that sound better?"

"You guys can spend all day at my doorstep offering plans," Kurt said irritatedly. "But I'm busy and won't be able to join you. Try again tomorrow." He tried to close the door once more but they weren't having it.

"And what are you so busy with that you have to ditch your buddies?" Puck pressed.

And then Kurt made up the fastest and quickest and most effective lie he could think of.

"If you must know, I've got a girl in my room." And with that, he shut the door in their stunned faces and began to make his way back to the stairs.

Kurt didn't even care what he looked like or sounded like or what anyone thought anymore. He was sick of this, sick of the world chasing after him to be different and to do what he didn't want to do.

He sprinted up the stairs and slammed the door of his room shut without thinking, flopping down onto the couch and leaning his head back with a groan.

Blaine sat up and tossed the magazine to the floor. "What was all that about?"

"How much did you hear?" Kurt asked dryly.

"Pretty much everything," Blaine winced sympathetically. "Except the last part when you stopped yelling. What did you say to make them leave?"

Kurt opened his mouth to speak but the next word heard was not his own.

"HUMMEL!"

Puck's voice rang loud and clear from the stairs. Kurt froze, icy paralysis seizing his limbs: he had forgotten to lock his door.

"We're not taking no for an answer!" Sam hollered.

Mike chimed in, "Bros before hos, buddy."

"You're forgetting chicks before dicks," Kurt muttered, causing Blaine to snicker.

Footsteps were clobbering down the hall, and Kurt scrambled to get up off the couch. He ran to the door, reaching for the lock but it was too late, someone was opening the door-

"I know I told you to get a girl, Hummel, but your buddies should always come first-"

But Puck stopped short, pausing in the doorway. Sam and Finn peeked over his shoulder.

Blaine said nothing, only stared back at Puck, waiting for the worst.

Kurt was frozen by the door, wishing to God that he was dreaming.

The silence was even louder amplified by the record machine.

Finally Finn broke the silence.

"That's definitely not a girl."

"You got that right," Mike whispered.

Kurt frantically urged his throat to tell them it was the first lie that came to his head, that he did not consider Blaine his girl, that he would go out with them if everyone just forgot this even happened...

But something nagged at Kurt, stopping the words from tumbling out, that same nag one gets when faced with the desire to lie.

"So that's what you told them," Blaine muttered.

"So this is the girl, huh Hummel?" Puck said quietly.

A creeping sensation seeped into Kurt's veins. He had been grossly mistaken. _This_ was reality, what he was about to deal with in the next few seconds.

He waited desperately for the other shoe to drop, staunchly avoiding Blaine's eyes that he knew were trained on him.

"Alright, Kurt," Puck said in the same, disconcertingly calm voice."It looks like you've got some issues to sort out." He held up his hands in a surrender, not wanting to believe this was happening as much as Kurt did. "Come next Tuesday, when school starts, I hope you've got them sorted out because if you're not hanging with us in your leather jacket on the patio before Homeroom..."

He seemed at a loss for words, so Sam offered some up, "We're gonna have a problem."

"Yeah," Puck agreed. Sam exited the doorway, whipping out a comb and smoothing his hair as he went. Puck looked ready to make an obscene parting comment, but shook his head and made to follow Sam, Mike jogging along in his wake. Finn glanced apologetically at Kurt before quietly shutting the door behind him.

Somehow the silence now seemed louder. He knew nothing else to do but avoid Blaine's eyes.

The record stuck, replaying two notes of Rhapsody in Blue over and over again. Kurt jerked his hand quickly to silence the machine and Blaine took this as an opportunity to speak.

"Kurt-"

He had barely gotten the word out before Kurt interrupted him, voice suddenly coming unstuck. "They took it the wrong way."

"I-" Blaine shook his head. "What?"

"When I told them I had a girl in my room and they saw you, they-" Kurt's knees began to tremble. "I- I think they- assumed that..." But Kurt couldn't go on. He couldn't say it, nor could he think of how to say it. He finally allowed his eyes to seek Blaine's, and he could tell that he was thinking the exact thing Kurt was.

Had they assumed correctly?

And that was when Kurt snapped.

His hands flew up to cradle his face at the same time that his shoulders jerked up in a sob. But somehow Blaine was off of the bed, and guiding Kurt to the couch, and gently pushing Kurt's head onto Blaine's shoulder, placing a supporting arm around Kurt's shoulders, shushing him comfortingly. Saying it would be okay even thought Kurt knew it wouldn't.

Kurt clung to Blaine's red polo, knowing he was soaking it but it couldn't be helped. He hiccuped and exhaled shakily in an effort to hold back his sobs.

"No one's here Kurt," Blaine murmured. "It's just me. Let it out, if you need to."

Kurt let out a small cry. "That's it," Blaine hushed, rubbing Kurt's arm comfortingly. "Better out than in."

Kurt weeped freely, and Blaine didn't question once. He just let Kurt soak his shirt through and rubbed his arm and occasionally pressed friendly kisses to his hair, and when he laced their fingers together Kurt's sobs began to subside. Once Kurt's breathing returned to normal, Blaine ventured gently to speak.

"I don't want you to have to choose, Kurt." he took a deep breath. "But I know they'll force you to. And if you want to go with them... I'll be okay with that."

"No," Kurt said in a small voice. "I shouldn't choose them."

Blaine chuckled softly. "I never said it would be a rational decision." He felt Kurt smile against his neck.

"They don't love me," Kurt whispered. "If they don't like who I really am, then they shouldn't be my friends."

"I think they love you in their own way," Blaine suggested. "They want to help steer you in the right direction, but they have their own opinions on which direction that is."

Blaine could barely hear what Kurt said next, but he was pretty sure it sounded something like "I don't want to lose you."

"Listen, Kurt. Hey, look at me." He raised their connected hands to nudge Kurt's face toward him. "You asked me what love is."

Kurt nodded.

"Love is just what I said, accepting who someone is and keeping them on the right track. But I think, well, I'm pretty sure, it's so, so, _so_ much more."

Kurt waited patiently, watching the gears turn behind those hazel eyes.

"Love is... a connection with someone. A connection that may not be explainable, but can't be denied no matter how hard you try. It's something that allows you to believe that anything is possible. Love is knowing that you can't live without someone, I mean, without that connection and that weightless feeling that the person brings. And it doesn't have to be romantic love between a man and a woman, I don't think. Love can be between two friends, or a parent and a kid, between siblings, or a boy and his pet, God, I don't even know. But the only reason I know all this is because, well, you matter a lot to me, Kurt. I feel like you're the first real friend I've ever had, you get me, and I love you for it. I love you. Okay? So you don't have to worry about losing me. No matter who you choose in the end I'll find a way to you, if that's what you want."

Tears had begun to fall down Kurt's cheeks again, but not the cold, desperate tears. The warm, nostalgic, bubbling-over-with-emotion tears. He wanted to say so many things, that he loved Blaine back, to thank him profusely, to tell him that after that there was no way he could choose a bunch of tools over his best friend, but somehow what came out instead was:

"Sorry I ruined your shirt."

Blaine burst into laughter and brought Kurt into a giant bear hug. "Lady and the Tramp is playing at the theater tonight. Feel like catching it?"

Kurt pulled away and nodded, sniffling and wiping his eyes.

"Yeah?" Blaine smiled. "I'll even let you borrow a bowtie."

"Really?" Kurt asked, clearing his dry throat.

Blaine raised expressive eyebrows. "Only if you wear bowtie-condusive clothes."

Kurt rolled his eyes. "Fine."

"I'll let you have some alone time, then. Eat dinner, change." Blaine said, standing up. "Maybe cry a little more. No sad faces when I come to pick you up. Here," he offered, picking up a record abandoned on the floor and replacing the broken George Gershwin with it. "Cheer up, kid."

He sang the opening words to the song as he danced out the door, effecting a wide smile to spread across Kurt's face.

_A-Well I bless my soul_

_What's wrong with me?_

_I'm itching like a man on a fuzzy tree_

_My friends say I'm actin' wild as a bug_

_I'm in love!_

Blaine winked and pretended to shoot at Kurt, who grabbed at his chest dramatically.

_I'm all shook up!_

Kurt could hear him vocalizing all the way out the front door, and he silently harmonized with the bopping of his friend's voice.

_Mm mm oh, oh, yeah, yeah!_

* * *

><p>It turned out that Blaine had luckily predicted precisely what Kurt was going to wear, because the baby blue bowtie matched perfectly with Kurt's light pink polo and dark wash cuffed jeans. Blaine wore the dark to Kurt's light, with a red bowtie, navy polo, and light blue jeans.<p>

They probably looked silly in their matchy-matchiness striding up to the theater with their arms slung around each other, but Kurt didn't care. He didn't care about anything; not tonight.

They meandered into the theater with Lemonheads and Jolly Ranchers in hand, taking in the sparse crowd.

"Let's sit in the back," Blaine suggested.

They settled into the two perfect middle seats just as the lights dimmed signaling the start of the movie. Kurt lifted the seat divider so they could place the boxes of candy neatly between them.

"How are you feeling?" Blaine asked, pulling an arm around Kurt's shoulders supportively.

"Better already," Kurt sighed as the overture began. He waited for Blaine's arm to move away from him so Kurt could shift into a comfortable position, but to his surprise it was going nowhere. He glanced stealthily at Blaine to see that his focus was completely on the screen. Kurt's heart picked up a small pace as he settled into Blaine's arm, which held him a little tighter in response.

Kurt found that every time he would begin to get into the movie he would be distracted by something to his left. Blaine coughed, or he took a deeper breath than usual, or his arm shifted behind Kurt. It was a good thing that Kurt had seen the movie four years ago when it was released, otherwise he would have been entirely irritated with the situation.

Presently he became distracted from Lady chatting with her doggy neighbors by Blaine's knee inadvertently shifting so that it was now touching Kurt's, and Kurt couldn't seem to stop thinking about it. Did he mean to do it? Was he even aware that they were touching? Did he care? Should Kurt move? What if-

But then Blaine shifted again so that they were pressed flush together, hips to thighs to knees, and Kurt almost stopped breathing completely. The way he was positioned now held his head so close to Blaine's shoulder, and if he could just muster up the courage that had suddenly disappeared, maybe he could... well...

Kurt couldn't get his heart to stop pounding. He was so close to Blaine that he could smell his hairspray, and that combined with the warmth of his body radiating onto him made Kurt unable to think straight, and the theater was dark and there was no one around them and-

But then Blaine was poking his side and pointing at the Siamese cats on screen.

"_We are Siamese if you please_," he sang under his breath, nudging Kurt to follow along.

"_We are Siamese if you don't please_," Kurt giggled.

And so Kurt was, temporarily, neutralized from his high point of tension. As they watched Lady escape from the horrible muzzle Kurt's frenzied adrenaline calmed, leaving a warm, cozy feeling that allowed him to simply tilt his head just so that it rested in the crook of Blaine's neck. Blaine brought his arm closer around Kurt to accommodate and held out the box of candy for Kurt to see.

"Lemonhead?" he whispered, and Kurt popped one into his mouth.

The Tramp took Lady to his Italian restaurant, and Kurt sighed as his favorite part of the movie played out. He and Blaine laughed lightly at the restaurant owner's antics, and Blaine reached over to take hold of Kurt's hand. Just as the dogs began slurping up the same strand of spaghetti, Kurt felt a soft pressure against his hair, and his heart raced when he realized this was Blaine placing a small kiss on the top of his head. Blaine rested his head atop Kurt's as he sang softly the end of the song.

_This is the night_

_And the heavens all rise_

_On this lovely bella notte._

Kurt closed his eyes and sighed against the hum of Blaine's throat, feeling the music more than hearing it.

So this was love.

* * *

><p>"<em>Oh this is the night!"<em>

Blaine burst into Kurt's room singing in an exaggerated Italian accent, and Kurt dug madly through his record box as he countered Blaine's line with his own.

_"It's a beautiful night!"_

They sang together as Blaine tossed Elvis Presley's record aside.

_And we call it bella notte..._

"Come on, Kurt, I can't sing a capella forever!_ Look at the skies..._"

"_They have stars in their eyes_, found it!" Kurt placed the record on the machine, spinning it to the song required at present.

They finally sang with music in the background. "_On this lovely bella notte!_"

Kurt ran to the window laughing and threw it open, revealing the starry night sky. He sang for the whole neighborhood to hear, "_Side by side with your loved one, you will find the enchantment here!_"

Blaine slowly made his way over to Kurt. He didn't see the look on Blaine's face, a mixture of adoration, affection, and awe. "_The night will be under its magic spell when the one you love is me, oh..._"

Blaine pressed gently against Kurt's back, placing his hands on Kurt's where they grasped the windowsill. He rested his chin on Kurt's shoulder as they sang the remainder of the song together.

_This is the night_

_And the heavens all rise..._

Blaine raised one of Kurt's hands to slowly turn him around so that they faced each other. He held that hand and leaned on the one that still covered Kurt's at the windowsill. Their foreheads pressed together, singing softly for only each other.

_"...On this lovely bella notte."_

Blaine's lips met Kurt's in a soft surge of pure magnetism, the smallest and briefest touch possible before breaking contact. Kurt waited, lips parted, head against Blaine's, breath held fast, waiting.

And then Blaine brought his mouth to Kurt's once again. The breath Kurt had been holding came out in a rush and hitched on the way back in as he felt Blaine's lips part against his. Blaine's hand left the windowsill to wind around Kurt's waist, effectively pulling him closer, and Kurt raised his freed hand to tug Blaine's neck, press against Blaine's mouth harder. The tiniest possible noise of pleasure issued from Blaine's throat as he opened wider, running his tongue along Kurt's bottom lip. Kurt gave a soft moan as he eagerly let Blaine in and untangled his other hand to wrap both his arms around Blaine's shoulders. Blaine explored Kurt's mouth slowly, languidly, eliciting a helpless groan of contentment from Kurt. The kiss built slowly to a climax, lips moving rapidly in harmony, until Blaine pulled away with a soft smack.

"Oh my god. Oh my- holy shit." He seemed desperately torn between diving back in and running out of the room.

Kurt was frozen, eyes wide in shock, breathing heavily and leaning back on the windowsill for support.

"Kurt?" Blaine rasped.

"Yes," Kurt squeaked.

"Why did you want to know what love was?"

Kurt swallowed to moisten his oddly dry mouth (odd because Blaine had just been shoving his tongue down Kurt's throat about five seconds ago) and blurted,

"Because I wanted to know what I'm feeling when I'm around you."

Blaine opened his mouth to speak, once, and twice, but no words came out. Kurt could practically see the debate dissolve from his eyes, the desire to run fleeing from them leaving only the desire to-

Blaine moved so fast that the next thing Kurt knew the window was shut and the curtains were drawn and Blaine had Kurt up against the glass, hands firm on his waist and lips one centimeter from his mouth. His words were low and angry, and the edge on them sent Kurt's body into shivers.

"Now you listen here, Kurt. I don't give a damn what love is, but I love you, and I don't care what anyone has to say about it. And I know this is gonna be an issue tomorrow, but right now I could care less because all I want to do is kiss you senseless. Are you okay with that?"

Kurt couldn't form coherent sentences, Blaine's heat was so intensely emanating onto him. "Okay. Okay- yes. I do- I love you. Too. I want- I- kiss me. Kiss me now, please."

Blaine ravaged Kurt's mouth and Kurt just barely contained a scream of victory, resulting instead in a low hum in his chest as he let his body go limp like a ragdoll. Blaine picked up the slack, supporting Kurt by molding him to his body and pressing him harder against the window. Eventually their kisses slowed, and softened into deep, lazy movements that had Kurt's head spinning faster than the record on the record machine.

"Blaine," Kurt whispered when they pulled apart.

"Yeah," Blaine rested his forehead on Kurt's shoulder.

"I don't think you included this kind of love in your list today," Kurt gulped.

"Tomorrow, remember? Worrying about that tomorrow." Blaine slurred, pressing a kiss to Kurt's neck.

"Right," Kurt said, biting his lip.

"That doesn't change how I feel," Blaine offered.

Kurt smiled and leaned in once more.

"Me neither."

_This is the night_

_And the heavens all rise_

_On this lovely bella notte._

* * *

><p><em>I know there are Lady and the Tramp haters out there, but what can I say. Haters gonna hate. I was seriously debating whether or not this kiss came too quickly, but I think I want the conflict of the story to be not how they realize what they feel about each other, but more how they deal with it and the world once they come to terms with what they feel for each other. As always, please let me know your thoughts. :)<br>_


	6. Somewhere Over The Rainbow

_It's a transition chapter, and sort of lame, but there's lots of fluffy boylove. Maybe too much, even. Oh well. Mature boys are mature. Enjoy. _

* * *

><p>Kurt whistled a tune to himself as he washed his car outside of his home. The sun was shining jubilantly, and birds chirped loudly all around. Burt had given him the day off, insisting that his son needed to enjoy the last mornings he would have free before school started. Carole had gone out to the supermarket after making her sons breakfast, and Finn had dodged off to God knows where before Kurt could even get a good look at him. So with nothing better to do, Kurt thought he might as well give his beloved car a rinse.<p>

Blaine had said they would talk today, and Kurt did hope that he planned on living up to his word because not a lot of talking had gotten done last night.

But Kurt wasn't in any hurry. Not at all. Right now Kurt was content just washing rhythmic circles into his car, feeling the sun beat down on his back, breathing in fresh air.

(This definitely had nothing to do with the fact that every time Kurt thought about the events of last night he got a peculiar swooping feeling in his lower stomach and his brain went haywire and his heart leapt up into his throat.)

A rustling somewhere nearby on the otherwise inactive street disturbed Kurt from his inner peace, but when he turned around there was nothing to be seen. He resumed whistling and dipped his cloth into the bucket for fresh soap.

And then in the next moment, Kurt was soaking wet, cold water pouring from above onto his head and down his neck, dousing his shirt and pants and converse all in a matter of milliseconds.

Kurt's sponge dropped to the ground and he blinked blindly, hair in his face and mouth agape.

"WHOEVER JUST DROWNED ME HAD BETTER SCRAM BY THE TIME I REGAIN PROPER VISION," he yelled furiously.

He grabbed randomly around him and managed to get hold of the offending hose, effecting a small yelp of terror from a very familiar voice.

"Dammit, Blaine!" Kurt fumed, whisking pieces of limp hair out of his eyes. He found Blaine standing in front of him grinning innocently with the hose Kurt had caught in his hand.

"Hi," Blaine said cheerily. "Nice day, isn't it?"

Kurt let out a roar and wrenched the running hose from Blaine's grip. Blaine jumped in surprise, beaming as he dashed away and Kurt followed him in a wild goose chase around the car. Finally they became stuck at opposite ends of the car; unable to chase each other efficiently. Eventually, Blaine shrugged in defeat and ducked down between the front of the car and the garage.

Kurt straightened triumphantly and stalked around the car, jiggling the hose so that it made jumpy waves in the air. He quickly dove down around the front of the car, and was about to give a cry of victory but was silenced by Blaine's mouth.

Well, there went Kurt's sense of morning calm, because his heart was in his throat again and his stomach was doing backflips and he was so thankful no one could see the way he tugged at Blaine's shirt to bring him closer.

After the initial shock wore off he pulled back slowly and held the hose over Blaine's unassuming head, soaking him to the bone.

"Damn you," Blaine whispered, eyes squished together to block out the water.

"You started it," Kurt countered.

"Ugh," Blaine harumphed. "Is your car clean enough? Let's go get dry."

"Kurt laughed, thinking vaguely that he could now care less about his car. "Sure," he replied, turning off the hose and leading Blaine into the house.

Once safely tucked into Kurt's room Blaine sighed, putting on the first record his saw as Kurt grabbed a towel.

"Could I borrow something to wear?" he asked. "I hate the feeling of wet clothes."

"Sure," Kurt squeaked, throat suddenly very tight. He didn't know whether it was from the thought of Blaine in Kurt's clothes or Blaine in _the process_ of changing into them.

He turned to his closet to fish out his shortest pair of jeans and a white t-shirt as Blaine spoke:

"So my parents are inviting you and your family to dinner on Saturday."

"Oh really?" Kurt asked curiously, balancing the clothes in the crook of his arm.

"Something about wanting to show their gratitude of you folk letting me hang around here as much as I do," he chuckled.

Kurt laughed in return as he turned around, tousling his hair in the towel, but stopped dead.

Blaine had already peeled off his shirt and was draping it over the open window to dry. He turned around and Kurt promptly dropped everything he was holding because it was everything he could do not to imagine where that trail of hair led down into his jeans-

"Kurt?" Blaine asked. Kurt snapped his eyes up to the concerned hazel ones. Judy Garland's voice sang out from the record player as he struggled to find his voice.

"Hi," Kurt choked.

Blaine smiled that innocent smile, and strode over to where Kurt was standing, leaning down to pick up the fallen clothing. But he paused, then came up slowly, never taking his eyes off Kurt the whole way up.

"Your clothes are wet," he stated.

"Yes," Kurt swallowed. Hair was flopping into his eyes and all over his head but he could bring anything to move to address the impulse to fix it, not with Blaine standing so mind-bendingly close.

Blaine flicked his eyes from Kurt's eyes to his soaking shirt, and took Kurt's inability to look at anything but Blaine's chest as a sign to slowly slide the damp fabric off his body.

They stood like that for a moment, shirtless and face to face. The clothes hit the floor once more and Blaine brought his hands to Kurt's waist.

"Can I kiss you, Kurt?"

The taller boy barely had time to nod before Blaine had acted upon the wish.

Deep, lingering kisses.

"Talking," Kurt gasped. "We need to be doing it. We need to talk," he stumbled.

"Right," said Blaine softly, his hands and eyes lingering on Kurt briefly before retrieving the clothes.

A few minutes later they sat cross-legged facing each other on Kurt's bed in dry clothes. The silence was dense, but not necessarily uncomfortable.

"So," Blaine gulped. "Last night was..." he trailed off, looking at Kurt hopefully.

"Interesting?" Kurt tried.

Blaine eyed him wryly.

"Great," Kurt corrected, blushing furiously, "Really, really, great."

"There was talk about love," Blaine said, allowing a slight smile at Kurt's word choice. "And I need you to know, well, I meant it when I said I loved you as a friend. And then, well..."

Kurt nodded in understanding. "But what about-" he stopped abruptly.

"Right," confirmed Blaine. Here was the problem.

Silence again. They heard a car filled with jibing voices pull up and pull away from the open window, footsteps, and the front door opening. Finn was home.

"This talk isn't going so well," Blaine decided.

"Well, why don't we try..." Kurt shrugged, "Saying what we're feeling. Before we try to figure out what to do with the... _feelings_, we have to know what they are first."

Blaine bit his lip. "With no judging," he amended. Kurt nodded, and Blaine fidgeted. "You first," he said.

Kurt balked. "Oh, well, I don't think it really would make any- I mean, I don't know how to-"

"It doesn't have to make sense, or abide to any rules of etiquette," Blaine stated thoughtful. "Just what you're feeling, right now, in reality."

Reality. There was that word again, but under a different context. Kurt looked down. "Okay. Well, when I'm with you I feel like myself, like I'm really happy, and it's not only that, it's this..." he gestured with his hands helplessly, "Inflating feeling. And my heart speeds up and my stomach flips over and when we sing-" his eyes floated to the ceiling, wondering where this corny crap was spewing from- "I just feel like everything is okay and right and oh God please shut me up now." He buried his face in his hands, not believing he had actually allowed himself to say what had been on his mind for weeks.

"Do you remember when I met you?" Blaine asked, and Kurt could hear the smile in his voice. He nodded into his hands.

"I couldn't even- you were so unreal, like one of those Coke models sitting on the car like that and then you looked at me and your eyes. I don't even know. Hey-" he took Kurt's hands away from his face and Kurt looked up. "There they are," Blaine laughed. "They're so filled with hope, but also, I don't know. Resentment. I can see how they change between when we're alone in your room and when we're out and about. And every time I see them I get that sort of feeling you just described."

He smiled, and Kurt smiled back.

"Okay," Kurt said determinedly, straightening his posture and ignoring the fact that Blaine's eyes slid straight to the spot where Kurt's button-down opened up to reveal his collarbone. "So we're friends."

"Best friends," corrected Blaine.

"Best friends," Kurt agreed, pausing and shrugging as if the next statement weren't the strangest thing in the universe, "That... like to kiss."

"A lot," Blaine blurted out.

Kurt's eyelids lowered slightly as his head became hazy at the thought.

"A lot a lot," he mumbled, crawling forward to cup Blaine's face with his hand for a kiss.

"Oh," Blaine exclaimed into Kurt's mouth. He fell back to lean against the pillows and Kurt followed him, straddling his hips. Blaine's fingers grasped at his waist eagerly until the light fabric was hitched up enough to touch bare skin. Kurt's head fell back with a sound of approval at the contact, and Blaine hastily took advantage of his bare neck to place delicate kisses along its length. Kurt hummed quietly and found Blaine's lips again, kissing slow and deep and wet. A strangled noise caught in Blaine's throat as he pulled away.

"NnghKurt," he panted. "I can't think."

"I know," Kurt empathized, releasing a hand from Blaine's neck to smooth his bangs. "But there has to be something we can do. Just because we can't think of it-"

"No, Kurt," Blaine breathed. "I mean I _can't think_ because..."

Kurt frowned. "What do you mean?"

Blaine was beginning to look a little panicked. "I mean... I- Kurt-" he let out a sharp breath winced self-consciously before finally rolling Kurt's hips down slightly.

Kurt gasped. "Oh! he squeaked, and rolled off Blaine quickly.

He hadn't been expecting _that._

Kurt shifted nervously sitting beside Blaine, wishing that Blaine's arousal hadn't brought attention to the quickly growing issue in his own pants.

"So," Blaine said in put-on cheery voice. "Best friends who like to kiss a lot."

"And are sexually aroused by each other," squeaked Kurt hysterically, hands flying up to his temples. This was getting way out of hand.

"Okay," Blaine said in the calmest voice he could manage, resting a hand on Kurt's knee. "We'll just take it one step at a time."

He looked to Kurt for affirmation and met his gaze. But said issue in Kurt's pants hadn't exactly gone away and it was probably showing in his eyes, and so that was why Blaine's hand was slowly sliding up and into Kurt's thigh-

Kurt was just about ready to drop everything and jump Blaine when he heard his brother's voice from the hall.

"Kurt?"

He felt like throwing a tantrum that comprised throwing breakable things at a wall and stomping like a toddler on the floor because _just_ when he was _this_ close to _finally _getting some action in his sexually inactive life...

Blaine's hand was still paused cradling Kurt's inner thigh, and Kurt's fist was clutching Blaine's shirt, about to pull him closer.

"What do you want, Finn?" Kurt managed.

"I want to talk." He hesitated. "About yesterday."

Kurt looked at Blaine, who twisted his mouth before nodding slightly. Thankfully, the abruptness of Finn's voice had popped Kurt's hard-on like a bubble, and judging by the mildly frustrated look on Blaine's face and a quick glance down _there_ he knew Blaine was on the same boat.

"Blaine's here too," Kurt warned as they separated from each other, scooting around to sit at a safe distance side by side against the wall. "Is that okay?"

"Yeah, that's cool."

Kurt sighed and allowed Blaine to nudge him supportively before rising up to get the door. Finn stood in his day clothes and a leather jacket, hands shoved in his pockets awkwardly.

"Well, come in," Kurt allowed, and went back to the bed to side beside Blaine as Finn closed the door behind him. Kurt patted the free spot next to him and Finn shrugged off his jacket as he settled down.

"Hey Blaine," he offered.

"Hello," said Blaine cheerfully.

"I'm sorry about yesterday," Finn addressed them both bluntly.

"Is this on behalf of everybody or for yourself?" Kurt asked dryly.

"Myself," Finn admitted. "The rest of them are still pissed that you blew us off for a geek. Their words, not mine!" he rushed, leaning to look at Blaine. "I think you're cool, buddy. If Kurt thinks so, then you must be, right?"

Blaine shrugged and rubbed the back of his neck. "Thanks, Finn."

"They're mainly upset that you lied to get them out," Finn admitted.

Kurt and Blaine exchanged glances, thinking the same thing. _How was that lie interpreted?_

"Finn," Kurt gulped. "When I said I had a girl over-"

"I know," Finn said. "You said it to make us leave."

Kurt sighed in relief. Their secret was safe, for now anyway.

"The guys can be kind of narrow-minded," Finn said, "And I know why you lied, because they were being stupid hounding you about hanging out when you didn't want to, and you wanted to be with your friend. So I'm on your side. Because I respect that you guys are friends," Finn said.

"Best friends," Kurt added.

"Wholikekissingalot," Blaine muttered under his breath.

"What?" Finn squinted. Kurt blushed.

"Nothing." Blaine's eyes scanned the ceiling.

"Well anyways I wanted to tell you again that I don't care what the guys think, I like that you two are friends and I tried to talk to them but they never listen to what I say."

"If they don't respect you then why are they your friends?" Blaine asked.

There was a silence, as if Finn was pretending that he hadn't heard the question. Kurt saw Blaine open his mouth to pursue the subject further but he nudged him imperceptibly, shaking his head to say it wasn't worth it.

"Oh, wow I love this song," Finn said suddenly as the opening strains played out from the other side of the room.

"_Really?_" Kurt asked incredulously, raising his eyebrows. "I pegged you as more of a Rock N' Roll type."

"Well when your brother is constantly blasting his music in the room next to yours you're bound to pick up some favorites," Finn countered, grinning as Kurt smoothed his hair self-consciously.

But Kurt's shock at his brother's closet-love for classics was only heightened when Finn started singing along. He and Blaine exchanged wide-eyed looks of shock at the fact that what came out of Finn's mouth was actually pleasing to listen to.

_Somewhere over the rainbow, way up high_

_There's a land that I heard of once in a lullaby_

Blaine winked at Kurt knowingly before joining in with Finn, creating a harmony part. Finn didn't really seem to notice, being spaced out and singing only peripherally.

_Somewhere over the rainbow, skies are blue_

_And the dreams that you dare to dream really do come true_

And then Kurt realized that he simply had to be a part of this. He sang out in his male soprano, and the three managed to perfect a three-part harmony.

_Someday I'll wish upon a star_

_And wake up where the clouds are far behind me_

_Where troubles melt like lemon drops_

_A way above the chimney tops_

_That's where you'll find me_

_Somewhere over the rainbow, bluebirds fly_

_Birds fly over the rainbow, why then, oh why can't I?_

Blaine and Kurt allowed a one line solo for Finn,

_If happy little bluebirds fly beyond the rainbow_

And joined back in for the final, lingering notes.

_Why, oh why can't I?_

There was a small silence as the song led into the next. Kurt could have sworn they were all thinking the same thing: how they wished in their own way that they could be somewhere over the rainbow too.

"That was really cool," Finn finally said, astounded.

"You never told me you could sing like that," Kurt breathed.

"I've never really tried before," Finn admitted. "It was..."

He seemed at a loss for words, so Blaine supplied one for him. "Fun?"

Finn looked over and smiled. "Yeah. Yeah, it was fun."

And Kurt had a sudden vision of the three of them plus anonymous faces grouped together in a room, singing a tuneless song, and they were singing, singing their hearts out and nobody cared, in fact people _wanted_ them to...

"I think I just had a Glee Club daydream," Kurt whispered to Blaine.

* * *

><p>Kurt didn't know why he felt the need to impress Blaine's family. Something told him it wasn't just the instinctive urge to make a good impression for new people. Then again, he refused to believe that it was because he wanted to clean up nice for his make-out buddy's parents.<p>

Best friend, Kurt corrected mentally. Whom he liked to kiss. A lot.

Regardless of the reason, Kurt had found himself Saturday night in his room debating between a plum polo that accentuated his pale skin and a lightweight grey oxford that brought out his eyes.

"Kurt," Burt's voice echoed from the hall. "You ready?"

"Not quite," Kurt said. He heard a knock at his door and Burt asked hesitantly, "Can I come in?"

Kurt looked down reluctantly at his cotton robe and the two shirts, and sighed. Maybe he could use some help. It wouldn't be weird to ask advice on clothes to his dad if they were, as a family, trying to look good for new people, right?

He held up the two shirts as he opened the door. "Purple or grey?"

Burt looked mildly surprised, but looked at him in vague fondness. "You look good no matter what, kid," he said gruffly.

Kurt raised his eyebrows, holding up the shirts a little higher, pointedly. Burt sighed, a smile that was almost sad growing on his face. "The grey one makes your eyes look good," he offered. "We're leaving in two minutes."

Kurt nodded in assent and closed the door behind his dad, a sad smile of his own barely ghosting over his face.

* * *

><p>"Ah, hello! Annie, Blaine, the Hummels are here."<p>

"Sorry we're late, Greg," Burt apologized, adjusting the collar of his khaki collared buttondown.

Finn interjected, shaking Greg's hand half-heartedly, "Kurt here was taking forever to get ready-"

"Finn," Kurt interrupted through his teeth with put on good-nature, smiling too widely as the taller, greyer version of Blaine ushered them into the warmly furnished living room of the single-story home. He looked Mr. Anderson and amended, "He's just joking."

"And you must be Kurt," Greg smiled, and Kurt gripped his hand amiably.

"Nice to meet you, Mr. Anderson," he offered.

"I'm so relieved that Blaine's already made a friend here," Greg said. He smoothed the front of his red polo. "He spends so much time over at your house, I felt like I had to invite you all over to thank you."

"It's no problem at all, Greg," Carole interjected with a smile. Kurt quietly reveled in the navy dress he had picked out for her to wear this evening. "Blaine is such a pleasure to have over and he's welcome any time."

"_What_ about me?"

Kurt's heart skipped several crucial beats that left him consequentially out of breath when Blaine ventured into the room with his mother, wearing a powder pink freshly ironed oxford and charcoal slacks. He felt lucky that four adults were keeping him in check from melting as that brighter-than-suns smile that spread across Blaine's face at the sight of Kurt.

"Hi," he said loudly to compensate for his inward multiple organ failure.

"Hi man," Blaine returned, chuckling. Their eyes met and Kurt knew that they were thinking the same thing: how they wished that the adults would somehow disappear into thin air at that precise moment.

Kurt and Blaine blushed and looked away.

The exchange went unnoticed by Mrs. Anderson, in a mauve sundress, who took Kurt's hand in her own and said lightly, "So good to finally see you, dear. Blaine tells us all about you."

"He does?" Kurt asked innocently, eyeing a deeply flushed Blaine. "Only good things, I hope," he smiled knowingly.

"What else is there?" Blaine smiled.

Finn rolled his eyes, pulling uncomfortably at the slate grey buttondown Kurt had shoved him in. "You guys are so weird. Am I the only teenager in this room?"

"Maturity is considered a good thing, son," Carole said warmly as Mrs. Anderson led the way into the kitchen.

Dinner, as it turned out, entailed natural, light-hearted conversation between families, light unintentional brushes of Blaine's arm against his from where they sat beside each other, and the best chicken pot pie Kurt had ever tasted. The Andersons weren't as hard to impress as Kurt had imagined up, and were in fact reasonably easy-going and friendly people. By the end of dinner the fathers were in a deep conversation of cars and mechanics, and the mothers were exchanging recipes. Finn, Kurt, and Blaine presently came to the topic of Broadway musicals.

"I mean, I just don't get it. I don't get how people can just burst into song at any given moment," Finn said.

"That's the point of a musical, Finn," Kurt said exasperatedly. "It's not supposed to be realistic."

"It's supposed to be a relief from the stress of the normal world," Blaine added.

"I don't know, I guess," Finn trailed off, mumbling something about "Nonsense" and "Synchronized dancing."

"So Kurt," Greg suddenly announced, causing Kurt to jump slightly.

"Yes, sir," he squeaked. Despite his just coming to the conclusion that the Andersons were laid-back people he suddenly had the feeling that he was about to be psycho-analyzed.

"What do you plan on doing for a living?"

Kurt felt all eyes on him, especially Blaine's.

The question was easy enough and he had answered it hundreds of times, the same rehearsed words, but somehow saying it right here and right now made it feel like a downright lie, an act of personal harm to his own conscience, a pull between Blaine's knowledge and the adults' expectations.

"Well the plan is to take over my dad's shop," Kurt forced the words out with a fake smile. He willed himself not to look at Blaine, who he knew would break his heart with the knowing look he was undoubtedly shooting at Kurt, so he instead found Burt's eyes instead. But this didn't turn out to be much help either. Burt was peering at his son with an odd look on his face with an emotion that Kurt couldn't quite pinpoint. It was reminiscent of the sad smile that he had shown Kurt earlier that evening, the smile that was upon his face whenever his son was dressed almost too nicely, or singing oldies under his breath or blasting The Sound of Music from his room. Kurt managed to pin it down to two alternatives: nostalgia or disappointment.

Kurt really hoped it wasn't the latter.

"Perfectly respectable, considering the circumstances." Greg Anderson concluded. "Blaine's going to be a lawyer," he added proudly.

It was Kurt's turn to look at Blaine, who smiled tightly. "That's right," he said softly. Kurt's foot lay just over Blaine's at the table; it was all he could think to do.

"Speaking of lawyers, how are things in the court, Greg?" Carole offered up, sensing the tension between the boys. Mr. Anderson looked reluctant to leave the subject of the boys' futures but began to speak. Kurt saw her sneakily place a hand on Mrs. Anderson's before she was speaking to her son and Kurt.

"Blaine, why don't you show Kurt and Finn up to your room? I'm sure they'd love to help you unpack a little bit."

Blaine shot his mother a grateful glance as he and Kurt rose from the table. Mr. Anderson looked as if he wanted to stop them, but Carole interjected with another question of the law, and he was taken with answering the query.

"You two go ahead, I'll stay down here," Finn said. Kurt looked at him curiously but Finn smiled and jerked his head as if to say _go ahead, he's your friend not mine._

Blaine had apparently left the record running from when he was last in the cozy, somewhat disorganized room and Rock N' Roll was softly filling up the room. Strewn across the nook by the window was a guitar and some rumpled clothes. There were some scattered cardboard boxes labeled various things, such as "Records," "Pictures," and "Desk Stuff."

"So what do you think?" Blaine asked, shutting the door. "I didn't really have time to clean up before you got here."

Kurt made a contemplative face and stated, "Messy. But welcoming."

Blaine only tilted his head to the side with a grin in response, and Kurt flusteredly blurted out the first thing that came to his head. "Where are your bowties?"

Blaine laughed. "Of course you would ask. Top drawer in the closet."

Kurt creaked open the already half open closet door and gasped as he opened the drawer. There was every color of the rainbow plus all the others in between, not including the vast patterns and checks and spots tossed in as well. Kurt picked up a lavender one affectionately, studying it.

A pair of warm hands took it from his own. Kurt turned to see Blaine smiling and wrapping it around the taller boy's neck, tying it expertly. Blaine was far closer than necessary to tie a bowtie, and his hands lingered slightly on Kurt's neck when he was finished. Heart fluttering sporadically, Kurt brought his lips to Blaine's briefly before hanging his head bashfully. Blaine smiled in a melancholy manner, leaning his head against Kurt's.

"Keep it," he said, "It looks nice on you." And the way his eyes trailed over the rest of Kurt as he pulled away suggested that the bowtie wasn't the only thing he thought looked nice on him.

Kurt smiled and made to dive back into the bowtie drawer as Blaine began to meander around the room, but a shine in the back of the closet distracted him.

"Blaine?"

His friend was instinctively beginning to toss the random matter on the floor into a pile in the corner when he looked up. "Yeah?"

"What's this?" Kurt attempted to hide his smile as he turned around, displaying a smooth leather jacket.

Blaine's mouth popped open and closed. "That... is..."

"Something that I've never, ever seen a poindexter wear in my entire life," Kurt finished for him. He added, when Blaine frowned, "And I mean poindexter in the most affectionate of ways."

Blaine grimaced and strode over to snatch the jacket from Kurt's hands. "My uncle gave it to me for my birthday," he explained. "It's really expensive so I never had the heart to throw it out. Or even wear it, if I was into this sort of thing."

"I am quite aware of the price, Blaine," Kurt said matter-of-factly, eyes widening at the brand name on the tag. Then he slowly eyed Blaine, a smile creeping onto his lips. "Try it on."

"Uh," Blaine laughed dryly. "No thanks." He began to walk it back to the closet but Kurt stole it back into his arms, holding it out for Blaine to slip into. "No one's watching," Kurt promised, smile growing wider.

Blaine shot him the most poisonous look he could manage before sliding into the jacket. He pulled at it self-consciously but Kurt held the lapels firmly and jerked it so that it fit nicely over his shoulders. He steered Blaine around to the mirror behind the closet door and nearly had an aneurism.

"You look sharp," Kurt breathed, holding Blaine's shoulders firmly for support and wondering if he would ever remember to breathe again.

Blaine tugged at the leather and turned this way and that. "It fits a little better than in February when I got it," he admitted. "It makes me look okay, I guess."

"Okay?" Kurt scoffed without thinking. "It makes you look god damn-" but he shut his mouth promptly and Blaine looked at him expectantly.

"Makes me look what?" he chuckled, turning away from the mirror to look at him.

"Nothing?" Kurt said immediately. "It makes you look like nothing," he said lamely.

"Oh yeah?" Blaine smiled cockily. "Just like I can do this," he tugged Kurt's arm to bring him heart-stoppingly close, "And say it's 'nothing?'"

Kurt blinked and swallowed. "Smokin'," he amended. "It makes you look smokin'."

Kurt was quite sure Blaine was about to attack his lips but he instead released Kurt and laughed, changing the subject: "Have you figured out what you're going to do about your friends?" he asked, reaching out to casually grab Kurt's hand, as if the hand-holding _wasn't_ the problem while his stupid friends _were. _Kurt was wondering just how messed up their priorities were.

Kurt sighed, absentmindedly running his thumb along Blaine's. "No. Either way I see it I have to face an identity crisis," he said, quoting his own thoughts. "I wish there was a way I could keep both you and my boys. They can get handy in a tough spot," he chuckled, and Blaine nodded in silent agreement.

"Isn't it crazy that Finn's such a good singer?" Blaine pondered, remembering Wednesday.

"It is," Kurt agreed. "When I told you I was thinking of Glee club I wasn't lying. I really want to join. But I'll admit I'm nervous about what people would think when I go from being hot-shot Greaser to showbiz choir man all at once."

"Hm," Blaine contemplated this, staring idly at their reflection in the mirror, eyebrows slowly rising as he took in Kurt's words. His eyes flicked from Kurt to the jacket to the record machine and back to Kurt, who had been following his sporadic gaze and was now thoroughly confused.

Finally, Blaine spoke, eyes blazing with inspiration. "I think I have an idea."

* * *

><p><em>Ooh, a cliffhanger. Well if you guys know Grease, you might be able to guess vaguely what's about to happen. Up next... THE FIRST DAY OF SCHOOL. (Insert ominous music here) Hope I've left you in enough suspense. As always, let me know your thoughts, I appreciate praise and criticism equally :)<br>_


	7. Don't You

_**Warnings:** **Lack of boylovin'** (gotta balance it out, since the last chapter was filled to the brim), **Grease allusions** up the whazoo (let me know if you spot them!), **smoking**, brief **alcohol**, and (cringe) the biggest **anachronism** in history. You'll know it when you see it, if you're a Darren Criss fan. I know a lot of you will hate me for it. But I needed to use this song. It spoke to me. and Darren wrote it and since Blaine is played by Darren and it takes place in the fifities and this -is- AU... just don't hate me. It was perfect for the Klaine in this story. It's a one-time thing, I promise. Imagine it to a different tune, if you're so averse to it because I know some people are. _

_I'm rambling again. I'll shut up and let you enjoy. Or hate. Let me know which! :)  
><em>

* * *

><p>Two blondes and two brunettes stepped out of a powder pink Cadillac into the morning sun, sliding on satin jackets and cat-eye sunglasses.<p>

"Can you believe it, girls?" Said the prettier, slighter of the blondes. "Senior year already."

"And half of us already have men at our feet," the tan brunette dragged on a cigarette elegantly.

"How _is_ Puckerman, Santana?" asked the pale brunette to the darker.

Santana shrugged with a private smirk. "Same as always."

"I thought Quinn was going out with Puck," the homelier blonde said quietly. The other girls rolled their eyes indulgently.

"No, Brittany," said the lighter brunette. "Quinn broke up with Puck last year. She's dating Finn now," she explained slowly.

"Tina's right," said Quinn, and continued dreamily, "And Finn is all I could ever ask for."

"Except for fun in the sack," Santana said saucily. Shrieks of laughter emitted from where they stood outside their car until Brittany's voice chimed in again.

"Hey, who's that?"

"Brittany, come _on_, you know Kurt," Quinn said exasperatedly.

"No, that guy next to him," Tina exclaimed, now seeing what Brittany was referring to.

The Pink Ladies lowered their sunglasses in sync, looks of utter astonishment on their faces.

"Hot _damn,_" Santana gasped.

* * *

><p>"Guys, what if he doesn't show up?"<p>

Mike leaned against the brick wall beside the entrance to the school with a worried look on his face.

"He'll be here," Puck said casually. "He couldn't live without us."

No one saw the incredulous look on Finn's face.

"Well I sure hope he shows," Sam said nervously, combing his hair back. "I've kinda grown to like the kid."

"So do I," said Puck. "But he needs to sort out his damn priorities if he's lying to get out of spending time with his boys."

Finn spoke up. "We _were_ kinda ticking him off. Even after he said he was busy."

"Yeah, busy with that poindexter guy-"

"_Holy shit!_"

The boys took in Mike's stunned face in bewilderment before directing their eyes to follow his gaze. Each of their faces soon mirrored the one similar to Mike's, all except for Finn, whose silent fits of laughter went unnoticed.

"Didn't see that one coming," Sam choked.

* * *

><p>"Are you sure you want to do this?" Kurt managed, looking steadfastly forward.<p>

"Positive," said Blaine.

It had taken two shopping trips, a tube of Grease, a speech lesson, five wasted cigarettes, and a couple of makeout sessions for moral support to get where Kurt and Blaine were now, which was parked in the lot of McKinley High. After preparing all day yesterday for Blaine's "idea," they found themselves oddly apprehensive at the thought of actually executing the plan.

Kurt sneaked a glance at Blaine but quickly snatched his head front again. There was no way he was ever going to get used to the things that leather jacket did to him.

"Let's go."

And with that, the boys stepped out of the blue Thunderbird and into the fray.

_Operation Greased Lightning: Initiated._

To say that heads turned would be an understatement.

Sure, everyone knew Kurt. He was Finn's brother, and part of _that _crowd with his coiffed hair and shades and jacket. But who was that _stud_ striding alongside him? The dark, greased hair and the stocky, slender tan build were definitely not native to McKinley halls. His cuffed jeans and worn converse and supple leather jacket were nearly identical to Kurt's but had that air of new use. Everything about him screamed cool and bad ass, and it was a good thing they couldn't see behind the black wayfarers that hid his terrified, self-conscious eyes.

"Everyone's staring at me, Kurt," he muttered.

"This was _your_ crazy idea" Kurt muttered back, "And I told you so but now it's too late to go back, at least half the school has seen you."

"I'm not saying I regret it," Blaine said as Kurt waved vaguely to various passerby, "It's just... weird."

"Get used to it," Kurt smiled as they made their way through the patio. He still couldn't bring himself to look at Blaine, because if he did that jacket would do strange things to his head and cause him to act on the wild impulses he was daydreaming of and that, Kurt reasoned, would be quite counterproductive.

"There they are," Blaine whispered, and Kurt spotted Puck, Finn, Sam and Mike lounging on the wall beside the stairs leading into the school. His chest filled with a tight feeling that was an odd combination of familiarity and resentment.

"Give me a smoke," Blaine hissed, and Kurt rose his eyebrows. "Blaine, seriously, you nearly coughed up your guts the way you were hacking yesterday-"

"I'm not planning on making a habit on it," Blaine huffed, holding out a hand. "I have a plan."

Kurt rolled his eyes and pulled a cigarette from the practically unused box in his back pocket to slam it into Blaine's hand. Blaine squeezed Kurt's fingers briefly with a smirk before whipping out a lighter.

Kurt released a disgusted sigh. "You do know that you're just _pretending_ to be cool, right?"

"I resent that," Blaine chuckled. "I'm plenty cool, and I know you think so judging by how you were drooling over my bowties."

"Touche," Kurt offered, shrugging as he remembered the lavender bowtie bestowed ceremoniously in his own closet. Just as Blaine slipped the cigarette into his mouth, Mike's glance caught at the approaching figures. Kurt nearly exploded at the sight of shocked profanity forming on his lips, and when Puck turned around to see what the matter was Kurt was pretty sure he was_ this_ close to pissing his pants trying not to laugh. Or cry. Whichever worked.

The only one who was not staring, mouth agape, as they finally approached was Finn, who had been no stranger to Kurt and Blaine's antics yesterday and was now attempting and barely succeeding to hold in spurts of laughter.

"Hey guys," said Kurt, putting a foot on the wall before leaning against it. "Good to see ya again."

Sam was now flinging his head back and forth between Kurt and Blaine. "I- how- but you're-"

"It's Blaine," said the boy who could not possibly be Blaine, Kurt thought, because now that he was actually looking at him and taking him in it appeared that in their presence was a very attractive, very suave, polished-yet-unpolished, cool-yet-smoking hot-shot who was rough around all the right edges.

Kurt mentally slapped himself because duh, that was what they were going for with this whole escapade. But damn, Blaine learned fast. Kurt hadn't expected him to pick up all of Kurt's tips in a single day _and_ pass with flying colors.

"You're... Kurt's friend," Mike clarified, tilting his head as if a different angle would make him seem like someone else.

And then Kurt nearly came unraveled because this was something he had definitely not included in the repertoire he had taught his friend: Blaine took a slow drag on the cigarette before blowing out the smoke in a quick huff and tossing the offending thing on the floor to grind it with his heel.

_Improvisation, _Kurt thought. _Very impressive._

"Yeah, that's me," he finally affirmed, and leaned casually against the wall next to Kurt.

Kurt quieted the hormones that were coursing achingly hard throughout his body by trying to picture Blaine's eyes watering behind the sunglasses. Because that was what was undoubtedly happening right now. Blaine's small, imperceptible cough affirmed Kurt's assumption. He addressed the crowd, "He's a newbie so I thought we could tow him around. Show him the ropes." He raised an eyebrow expectantly when no one answered.

"Unless you guys don't want me around," Blaine said smoothly. Kurt kept having to remind himself that the cool-guy voice Blaine was sporting was Kurt's own creation. God, what kind of monster had he unleashed?

Well Kurt had definitely done something right because the boys were blanching at Blaine's assumption. Finn was now openly laughing because no one seemed to notice.

"What? No way man, you can hang with us," Sam begged.

"When did we ever say we didn't want you?" Mike chuckled nervously.

"We just didn't know you were so... cool."

Blaine smirked at Puck's statement and from the angle Kurt was he could see Blaine shoot a quick playful glance at his best friend. "Well, let's just say Kurt's been a bad influence on me."

Kurt really wished Blaine would stop saying things like that in that particular voice because of the swarm of electricity fizzing in his gut.

"More like a good influence," Puck finally grinned and clapped him on the shoulder. "Welcome to the gang, Anderson."

There were assenting jibes and laughs all around. Blaine lowered his crossed arms to his pockets, lightly brushing Kurt's arm on the way. Kurt looked up from the place he slouched just in time caught the wink thrown at him from behind the unyielding black wayfarers.

And at that moment the bell rang, signaling the five minute mark before homeroom.

"Come on guys, let's scram," Puck suggested, and the boys began to trail after him.

"We'll catch you guys later," Kurt said. "I gotta show Blaine to the main office."

Puck nodded. "It's good to have you back, man," he said, lightly punching the slighter boy's shoulder with a sincere look in his eye. He and the guys turned to go, leaving Kurt and Blaine to their own devices.

_Phase One of Operation Greased Lightning: Complete. _

Blaine let out an enormous cough and started to panic through hacks.

"Oh god- Kurt, I don't- think I- can do this," he choked.

_Operation Greased Lightning: On hold._

Kurt put a steadying hand on Blaine's chest. "You're joking, right? You even had _me_ convinced you were a completely different person!"

Blaine laughed nervously, clearing his throat. "You keep forgetting that I starred in all my school's plays," he noted. "I don't know. Was it too over the top?"

Kurt's eyes widened indignantly. "Over the top? Nowhere near it. The stamping on the cigarette thing? That was genius!"

Blaine smiled slowly. "Thanks, I guess. I just feel so..." he made to run his hand through his hair but winced when he realized there was grease in it. "...Uncomfortable," he finished.

"Just think," Kurt offered helpfully, "As soon as school is out we can go to my house and relax."

"And by relax you mean wash this crap out of my hair?" Blaine scoffed.

"Of course," Kurt said, not bothering to mention that he quite liked it slicked back like that. They began to make their way up the stairs. "You can still back out if you want to. This was _your_ idea, after all."

Blaine laughed and shook his head. "No. This way we can still be best friends and you can have your... support system?"

"Safety net," Kurt corrected, face grim.

"Whatever the terminology. Besides, it's only for school, like you said. We can be whoever we want to be at home."

Kurt smiled weakly at Blaine's megawatt smile that never failed to warm him. "Right," he affirmed. He decided not to dwell on the fact that what they were doing had in fact deepened Kurt's 'reality versus fantasy, double life' issue. "And Blaine?"

"Yeah?"

Kurt slipped his pack of cigarettes into the trash can.

"No more smokes for you."

* * *

><p>"Psst."<p>

The noise in the loud din of homeroom went unnoticed by Kurt, who was busy twirling his hair comb between his fingers. Mr. Ryerson was evidently oblivious to the antics the Seniors were displaying around the classroom (paper airplanes, sitting on desks, blithe chattering about summer adventures; the usual) or simply choosing to ignore it.

"_Psst."_

Kurt frowned and turned around to find himself face to face with Artie Abrams. His glasses shone with enthusiasm, and his hands ran nervously up and down the wheels of his wheelchair.

"What's up, Artie?" Kurt drawled.

"How was your summer?" Artie asked with a smile. He pushed the glasses up the bride of his nose.

Kurt glanced briefly over at Puck and company, making sure they were completely absorbed in their task of dropping various objects down Rachel Berry's dress before answering the kind-hearted "dork," as Sam so aptly named him.

"It was pretty good, how was yours?"

"Awesome. Hey, listen." Artie glanced around at surreptitiously eavesdropping eyes before leaning in closer to Kurt. "Everybody needs to know. Who's the new guy?"

Kurt raised his eyebrows slowly. Brittany Pierce, in all her pretty blondeness, presently came to sit on Artie's desk, popping her gum loudly before chiming in. "That new guy? He's a stud."

"Quiet class," Mr. Ryerson projected with no real motivation from his desk, not even bothering to look up from his book. No one payed him any mind.

"His name is Anderson," Kurt explained cooly, fighting down the goofy smile that was threatening to break free. It was just _so _strange to think that people actually thought Blaine, the guy who loved bowties and showtunes, was cool just based off of some grease and a leather jacket.

"Just Anderson? That's a funny name," Brittany said blankly, adjusting the satiny pink jacket on her shoulders.

"_Blaine_ Anderson," Kurt clarified.

Santana Lopez, the waitress from Breadstix, walked over from her desk to the trio, playing with Brittany's pigtails. Their pink jackets matched perfectly, though Brittany wore it over a modest dress and Santana's covered up pedal pushers and a low-cut blouse.

"Where's he from?" Santana asked.

"New York," Kurt said simply.

Quinn Fabray, looking more like an angel today with her short, curly 'do, and Tina Cohen, light skin contrasting with her black hair, strode up to join the conversation, completing the Pink Lady foursome. Artie looked positively stunned to have the hottest girls in school surrounding him. He twiddled his thumbs, listening intently.

"Are we talking about the new kid?" Tina asked.

"He's a stud," Quinn interjected.

Kurt objected, "You have a boyfrie-"

"That's what I said," Brittany interrupted, cutting over him.

"Kurt," a nasally voice intervened. Kurt turned and groaned internally to see Jacob Israel standing beside his desk, glasses glittering in the harsh florescents and poofy hair all over the place. The others grumbled in irritation. Jacob remained oblivious. "I couldn't help overhearing. I saw you walking around with that new guy today before school and I was wondering if you could help me get an interview so I can feature it in the weekly intercom broadcast-"

"I don't think he'd be interested," said the loud and cacophonous voice of Rachel Berry. More eye rolls and groaning ensued. "But as Student Body Communities Leader it's my job to escort new students around the school to make sure they don't-"

"Just shut your pie hole, Rachel," Santana interrupted. "Everyone knows your 'position' in the student body is just a floozy. You want a slice of that hunka burnin' love just like the rest of us," she said dryly, examining her fingernails.

Rachel smoothed her light blue poodle skirt nervously. "Well, I-"

"Hey, are you guys talking about our man Blaine?" Puck barged in. "Move, dork," he grunted at Artie, wheeling his wheelchair away. Kurt caught him and spun him to face the crowd before he got too far as Puck pulled up a chair to take Artie's spot. "Hey baby," he added to Santana, who smiled in sultry appreciation.

"You better not be spewing crap about him," Sam added, slumping down into the desk beside Puck. "We won't take to that kindly."

Kurt bit down the snide comment he was aching to snap out: that just a week ago they were reprimanding him for being with Blaine Anderson, and now they were practically worshipping him. This was, after all, his and Blaine's plan in the first place. So despite the hypocrisy of it all, Kurt knew he should be relieved that things were going as planned.

Finn came over to sit on the desk beside Kurt, and Quinn promptly placed herself on his lap. "So tell us, Kurt," she said, brushing lint off Finn's jacket. "What's up with the newbie?"

"Yeah," projected Mike from a couple of seats down where he was starting a card game with Sam. "What's he like, who are his folks, when did he get here, who's his girl-"

Kurt blushed furiously at the last comment, but no one seemed to notice as they were all nudging Kurt, berating him with questions and jibes until he finally snapped.

"If you all want to know so much about Blaine Anderson, why don't you go ask him your god damn selves?"

He jerked his head to the door and all heads whipped around just in time to catch Blaine striding cautiously into the classroom, schedule in hand and somewhat disconcerted to find all eyes immediately and fiercely on him.

He caught Kurt's irritated eyes before remembering the facade. "What are you guys lookin' at?" he snapped, and the silence among the group was suspended as everyone's eyes followed him walking to the teacher, tossing a note on the desk which Mr. Ryerson picked up (eyes never leaving his book), and plopping down in a seat next to Kurt.

"Not a lively bunch, are they?" Blaine chuckled after a moment of silence, propping his feet up on Kurt's desk.

Kurt rolled his eyes. "The school community is fascinated by their new toy." He snapped his fingers in their faces. "Come on people, he's just a human."

Blaine snickered. "Well what do you want to know?" he asked the group of widely curious eyes.

"Who _are _you" Jacob gasped tremulously, leaning in a little too close for comfort.

Blaine grimaced at his vehemency. "Uh, Blaine Anderson. Who's this guy?" he asked the crowd, jabbing his thumb at the curly mop of hair.

"Doesn't matter," Puck brushed it off. "Where'd you come from, bud?"

"New York," Blaine replied easily.

"Yeah, but what'd you _do_ there?" Tina demanded.

"I dunno," Blaine crossed his arms. Kurt knew all the things going through Blaine's head when their eyes connected for a short exchange: _glee club, school plays, Disney movies, baseball, football-_

"Just hung around, I guess," he finally said.

"And why are you here?" Santana pressed.

"My folks wanted to move" Blaine said breezily. "So here I am."

"What does you daddy do?" Quinn trilled, fluffing up her big, short, blonde curls.

"He's a lawyer or somethin'," he muttered.

"Damn," mumbled Artie under his breath.

"Well there you go," Kurt snapped. "Everything you need to know about Blaine Anderson."

Except not. But that was for Kurt and Blaine to know, and for the rest of them _never _to find out.

Hopefully.

"Good to know I spilled my life story to a bunch of strangers," Blaine said wryly.

"Oh, sorry buddy," Finn finally spoke up. "You know me, Puck, Sam, Mike. This is Quinn," he gestured to his lap, "Tina, Brittany, and Santana. That's Jacob, and he's Artie, and that's-"

"Rachel Berry," said the lively brunette holding out her hand. Blaine took it hesitantly and she shook it vigorously. "And as Student Body Communities Leader, it's my duty to give you the full tour of McKinley High."

"Erm, sorry Rachel, but I'm pretty sure Kurt's got that covered."

Kurt kicked his shin, and made a silent S.O.S. with his eyes that screamed "_Too nice, too nice!_"

Blaine coughed deeply and amended, "So sorry miss, your _services_ will not be required today. Or any day, really."

Snickers echoed around the group as Rachel huffed and stomped off. Kurt noticed that Finn seemed to be the only one sorry to see her go.

"You're a natural," said Mike, leaning over to clip Blaine on the shoulder. "It normally takes hours to make her scram."

"So Blaine-" Jacob started.

"Don't even think about it," Puck intervened, shoving Jacob out of the group. He trotted off furtively, looking remarkably like a wounded dog.

"So Blaine," Santana drawled, in a completely different inflection.

"Welcome to McKinley," Brittany finished for her, moving forward to playfully straighten the lapels of Blaine's jacket with an unnervingly charming smile on her face. Blaine shot a loaded glance over to Kurt, a mixture of alarm and protest and longing, but before Kurt could give him silent direction the classroom door opened once again, providing an excellent distraction. Brittany unhanded Blaine in her preoccupation with the new person in the room.

In walked the Spanish teacher with a sheet of paper in his hand and a haggard look on his face. He made his way up to Mr. Ryerson's desk and they exchanged a few words before the latter waved his hand passively. The former went to the front of the class and cleared his throat pointedly. No on seemed to notice so Mr. Ryerson hollered half-heartedly, nose still in his book, "Mr. Schuester would like to make an announcement."

The class quieted a little, but not much. Mr. Schuester found this the best opportunity he would ever get so he began, projecting his voice over the loud hum of the class.

"Hi boys and girls," he started. "I'll just get right to it, then. I'm here for Glee club. We're in need of members to compete in Sectionals this year, and I know there's a lot of talent out there that goes unnoticed-"

Kurt and Blaine, the only ones beside Rachel Berry who were listening, exchanged glances.

"So if you're interested, sign up-"

Unfortunately for Mr. Schuester, the bell alerting the end of class decided to ring at that very moment, abruptly cutting short any attention span the class may have had as they zoomed out the door.

"The list will be on the bulletin board," Mr. Schuester yelled, trying in vain to recapture attention, "In front of the main office," he finished helplessly.

"Hey," Puck punched Kurt in the arm as he and Blaine gathered their things slowly. "You coming?"

"Yeah," Kurt answered. "Gonna show this sucker to History in case he gets lost," he punched Blaine lightly. "See you at lunch?"

"Rad," Puck agreed. "And hey, the boys are getting' together at my house tonight for a... end of the summer celebration, if you will. Be there?"

"Or be square," Blaine bantered, sliding on his wayfarers. Puck laughed and exited the room, hurrying to catch up with the crowd and leaving Kurt and Blaine alone with the two teachers.

"Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" Kurt asked.

"Aren't I always?" Blaine returned, and they walked up to Mr. Schuester together.

"Mr. Schuester, sir," Kurt declared. The teacher turned around and smiled weakly.

"Mr. Hummel. What can I do for you?"

"Blaine and I would like to join the Glee club," he said bluntly.

Mr. Schuester's face lit up brighter than Christmas day. "Wow, boys, that's great-"

"Mr. Schuester," Kurt interrupted. "If I may. That's not all."

"Two more members isn't going to help anything," Blaine continued. "You need twelve to compete and judging by the way everyone ignored your announcement, I'm guessing not a lot of people are itching to sign up."

"And we know why." Kurt smiled.

"It's because Glee club isn't... cool," Blaine said carefully.

Mr. Schuester's face fell. "I understand. But I just know that if some of the kids gave it a chance they'd like it. Everyone in this town is so narrow minded, is all," he muttered to himself in frustration, and Kurt and Blaine exchanged a look that expressed the same sentiment.

"Don't worry, sir. We have an idea," Blaine piped up.

"It's not about the club," Kurt offered. "It's about the people in it."

The Spanish teacher furrowed his brow. "What do you mean?"

"It's common knowledge that high school kids follow the herd," Kurt explained. "And that the herd is lead by, let's face it. The cool kids. So if you can get the cool kids to do something,"

"Everyone will follow in their footsteps," Blaine finished.

"Ah," Mr. Schuester's face lit up in understanding, lips upturning in a hopeful smile. "But that puts us back at square one. How do I get the cool kids to join the club?"

"Don't you worry about that, sir," Kurt said, grinning and looking at Blaine.

Blaine smiled back. "We've got it handled."

_Phase Two of Operation Greased Lightning: Officially In Progress._

* * *

><p>"You play?"<p>

Blaine gestured at the guitar sitting in the corner of Puck's bedroom. He was leaning forward in the desk chair away from the desk on which Kurt was sitting. They had arrived at the shindig just late enough according to Kurt's precise calculations and were now officially _in_ with the crowd. Kurt just hoped that Blaine didn't prematurely suffocate from the swirling cigarette smoke that perpetually hung about the room before they had a chance to enjoy the fruit of their efforts.

Kurt now looked at Blaine in secret, exchanging a knowing glance. If all went according to plan, they would get more than just a cool set of friends out of all these shenanigans. Shenanigans such as two tubes of Grease and leather jackets and degradation of vocabulary.

And so now Blaine was pointing at the guitar, asking the question Kurt had never had the guts to all the times he had been to Puck's house for parties like these. Puck, lounging on the bed, contemplated the instrument and took a sip of the beer-in-a-brown-bag before passing it along to Sam, occupied with the television, before answering.

"Sometimes. When I feel like it."

Blaine shrugged and exchanged an unnoticed glance with Kurt. _Good enough,_ they were both thinking.

"Why don't you play somethi-"

"Your turn," Sam hiccuped loudly and obliviously, cutting right over Kurt to hand the bottle to Blaine from where he sat on the floor.

Blaine took it. Kurt gave the smallest, most minuscule shake of the head desperately but Blaine was one step ahead of him. He'd be damned if either one of them got a little buzzed and tried something... inappropriate. Or, counterproductive, as Kurt had put earlier. So Blaine put the bottle to his lips and made a very convincing fake swig. Kurt followed his lead, swallowing air, before passing it on to Mike, who was tossing a baseball up and down in Puck's armchair. Blaine sighed and left the matter previously at hand for later.

There was a pause in which everyone was still, not saying or doing anything, bathing in cigarette smoke with nothing but the muted noise of the television filling the room. Kurt had participated in these get-togethers ("celebrations," as Puck called them sometimes) millions of times before, but somehow being here with Blaine and after all that had happened in the past few weeks made it feel rather stupid and pointless and, quite frankly, boring. He was wondering how on earth he ever considered this fun and was about to think that he would much rather be alone in his room with Blaine when there was a distinct sound of a car pulling into a driveway.

"Whassat?" Mike leaned forward abruptly, dropping the baseball.

"Lemme check," Finn said, pulling back the curtains from his spot on the window. "Oh my god," he said in half terror, half disbelief.

"What?" Kurt asked.

"The girls," Finn laughed. "They're outside."

"Are you sure?" Sam said, attention finally drawn away from the television set.

"Who else in Lima owns a pink car?" Puck snapped, hopping off the bed and moving to the window. "They want us to come down."

"It's a good thing your parents are out," Sam said, crowding at the window along with Mike.

"You guys coming?" Mike asked. Puck was already half out the window.

"What are you gonna do, shimmy down the drain pipe?" Kurt jibed.

Blaine leaned over to grab the abandoned beer bottle. "We'll finish this off and join you," he reasoned.

Mike shrugged and followed the rest out the window.

"God," Blaine exhaled. "Who knew just sitting here could be such hard work?"

"You get used to it," Kurt said dryly. "Good try with the guitar thing, by the way. I know he plays, I've just never heard him."

"We just need to get him to sing something, I think," Blaine pondered. "And if any of the other guys are like Finn, they'll have to join in. It's infectious."

Kurt hummed in agreement, and paused before saying with a smirk, "I saw _you_ had a guitar in your room." He remembered the instrument half-buried by soiled clothing in Blaine's room from Saturday night.

"So I did," Blaine agreed.

"Do you play?" Kurt nudged him. "Or is it just for show?"

Blaine snickered and got up, snatching the guitar and sitting back down to idly tune it. "Of course I play," he scoffed.

Kurt listened while he adjusted the strings, and sat up expectantly when he put it into position. He laughed when Blaine's fingers began to strum a familiar Elvis tune.

"All Shook Up," Kurt said. "How did I know?"

"It's kind of our theme song," Blaine said casually looking up into Kurt's eyes with a playful glimmer that sent Kurt's stomach into dangerous butterflies. But he lowered his eyes and stopped playing, then sighed nervously. "Can I try something?" He asked, scrunching up his face with uncertainty.

Kurt frowned. "On the guitar?"

Blaine nodded, picking at the strings experimentally. "I- kind of- wrote. Something," he stuttered out, blushing.

Kurt matched the flush with his own. Was he about to be... serenaded?

"Well in that case," Kurt smiled, scooting on the desk so he could lean against the wall and stretch his feet on Blaine's chair. "Play for me, maestro," he instructed.

Blaine chuckled self-consciously. "Well, it's not- it's for- I don't really- Yeah, okay." He gave up trying to make excuses and settled for a bashful smile as he began to strum an optimistic- and interestingly melancholy- tune.

_Say, wasn't that a funny day?  
>Gee you had a funny way, a way about you<br>A kind of glow of something new.  
>Sure, I'll admit that I'm the same.<br>Another sucker for a game kids like to play  
>And the rules they like to use<em>

Okay yeah, Kurt had heard Blaine sing before. So many times. But this was different; like the voice was connecting with his thoughts. Kurt could tell, with the little things, like the way his tongue would moisten his lips before he started a new line, how he would smile at certain words, how his eyes would flit up to the ceiling in embarrassment. And Kurt thought he knew why as Blaine's arms worked deliciously to build up to the chorus. They were Blaine's words.

_Don't you want the way I feel?  
>Don't you want the way I feel?<br>Don't you want the way I feel for you?_

Yeah. Kurt hoped. He hoped a lot. He knew Blaine cared about him and that was enough, but wow Kurt really, really wanted this song to be for him.

_The sun, telling me the night is done  
>Well I refuse to let it stop our fun<br>Close your eyes, we'll make it dark again  
>And kiss-<em>

Well if there was any doubt about for whom the song was meant for it now dissipated, because Blaine abruptly stopped playing and threw a half-cautionary glance to the window before standing up to lean onto the desk and onto Kurt. He smiled before bestowing upon his lips a chaste kiss, and smiled goofily at Kurt's furiously bright shade of red as he sat back down to continue the song, more at ease.

_There's a thought, so how 'bout this?  
>Let's pretend that both our lips are made of candy<br>After all, we need sweets every now and then_

Kurt internally swooned at the sweet soaring of Blaine's voice in the chorus, and felt his heart clench at the bridge. It was so unfair to discover just now how his best friend had a beautiful, stunning way with words.

_Here we are, two strangers in a very different place.  
>Who knows what could happen to us next?<br>Here we are with nothing but this little spark  
>It's too cold outside to lay this fire to rest<em>

The fervor in which Blaine sang sent chills up and down Kurt's spine. He desperately wanted _this_ to be right, for what they had to be okay. Every inch of him screamed that he didn't want to keep it secret, but there was no other way. This was how it had to be, for now at least.

_Go? How so very apropos  
>A goodbye just as soon as I said hello<br>Well alright, I'll see you later  
>It's true, it's just a fantasy for two<br>But what's the difference if it all could have been true?  
>I guess this is better<em>

Kurt squeezed his eyes shut, willing tears not to come. A fantasy for two. A fantasy that was becoming more and more real every passing minute. From behind closed eyes he did not see or hear the boys silently climbing back through the window, staring at awe from behind Blaine's back.

_But don't you want the way I feel?  
>Don't you want the way I feel?<br>Don't you want the way I feel for you?_

_Oh, don't you want the way I feel?  
>Don't you want the way I feel?<br>Don't you want the way I feel for you?_

_Don't you want the way that I feel for you?_

The applause and whistles caused Kurt's eyes to snap open, lurching forward and nearly tumbling onto Blaine, who turned around abruptly and in shock.

"So when you said you hung around in New York," Puck said, "You were really strumming tunes on a guitar?"

Silence.

"Thought you could show me up, huh Anderson?" Puck laughed, and both Kurt and Blaine sighed in internal relief. Yet another close shave.

"Someone had to play the thing, gathering dust in the corner," Blaine countered.

"Well I don't know if I can beat an _original song," _Puck mocked. "But I can damn well try."

He reached out for the guitar and Blaine tossed it to him. Puck hoisted a foot onto the bed and settled the guitar on it, strumming.

_Hey baby, I ain't askin' much of you_ _  
>No no no no no no no no baby, I ain't askin' much of you<em> _  
>Just a big-a big-a hunk o' love will do<em>

Blaine and Kurt simultaneously began to sing along with Puck, and to their delight the other boys quickly followed suit. As the song went on they ended up dancing around the room like maniacs, Puck trying out some pelvic thrusts that would put Elvis himself to shame. At the end of it all they ended up collapsed on the bed, laughing until their sides hurt.

"Man," Finn whimpered, practically sobbing. "I don't think I've had that much fun in a long time."

"Why don't we do that more often?" Sam asked, his usually gelled hair mussed up from the antics.

"Because _you're_ always glued to the god damn TV," Mike shouted, effecting more laughter.

"Hey guys, I got a crazy idea," Blaine piped up, scrambling off the couch to hoist himself on the desk chair, calling all attention onto himself.

"How crazy is it?" Kurt asked, playing along.

"Pretty crazy. But I think you guys will go for it," Blaine said. "In New York I didn't just play guitar. I sang."

"Sang how?" Finn asked dumbly.

"In my Glee Club," Blaine said.

There was a brief silence before the boys cracked up again, all except for Kurt and Blaine.

"You're joking, right?" Puck asked. "Please tell me you're kidding around, bud."

"Would you be laughing if I told you all we did was pretty much like what we just did two minutes ago?" Blaine challenged confidently, hopping off the chair to coolly lean against the desk.

The laughter finally ceased as the boys seemed to seriously consider the statement.

"Really?" Sam asked. "It's that fun?"

Blaine shrugged. "Yeah, it is."

Mike hesitated. "But Glee Club is lame," he said, as if they were now questioning the color of the sky.

"Not if _we_ join," Kurt said reasonably, as if just realizing the point that he had _actually_ been practicing in his head. "Think about it, guys. Glee Club would be the coolest club in school if _we_ were in it."

"'Cause who's cooler than us?" Puck said smugly.

"Damn straight," Kurt urged. The group deliberated for a few seconds more, and then Puck spoke up .

"You know what Anderson?" he said. "We'll consider your offer. If there's a club we might even want to grace our presence with," he nodded in approval. "Singing cool songs would be the way to go."

"We could probably even get the girls to join," Blaine hinted, grinning and nudging Sam and Mike knowingly.

"That's it, I'm in," Mike said eagerly, and the guys burst into hysterics once more as Kurt and Blaine exchanged victorious glances.

_Phase Two of Operation Greased Lightning: Complete._

* * *

><p><em>Yeah. Don't You, by Darren Criss. What can I say, haters gonna hate. (I feel like I've been saying that a lot lately haha.) Also I know there are some incongruities. Santana the waitress from Someone To Watch Over Me is in fact a pink lady, hopefully it's clear that she and Puck were playing around with the "what's your name" business in Breadstix. Also Tina couldn't be Asian if I wanted her in the story, so her last name is just Cohen minus the Chang. And don't let all this happy go lucky fluff mislead you; angst is coming. Soon. In the next chapter or the chapter after. Because sometimes things really are too good to be true. So enjoy your warm fuzzies while you can.<br>_

__P.S. Did you see that on Glee The Music Volume 6, the show will be performing Bella Notte? What if Kurt and Blaine sing it... I can't even... These guys are trollin, they have to be.__

_As always, let me know your thoughts!_

_**Edit:** For the record, and curious readers, the guys didn't see Blaine singing to Kurt, they and their narrow-mindedness saw him showing off his guitar skills and Kurt listening.  
><em>


	8. One Night

_BACK TO MY FIRST AND FAVORITE FIC. You Don't Know Me was uberfun and an awesome brainchild but it's time to go back to basics. Don't get too mad if chapters get a little shorter; 5,000-7,000 words is a little lengthy for one who has limited alone time and minimal brain power due to lack of stimulation from school. That being said, enjoy the long awaited update and let me know your thoughts, as always :) Song is One Night by Elvis. _

_**Warnings:** Smut at the end. But it's pretty soft, if I must say. Euphemisms are my friend. Skip it if you must but it's important to the story, surprise surprise. _

* * *

><p><em><em>What with the overwhelming transformation of Blaine Anderson, Kurt had allowed the dinner with the Andersons that Saturday to slip from his mind. It wasn't so much Blaine's parents that concerned Kurt; they had been cordial and seemed to like him. What he remembered most clearly from that dinner, other than his newfound obsession with Blaine paired with a leather jacket, was when the subject of the future was brought up.

Now Kurt was alone in his room with the record player, afternoon sun glimmering through the window. The day following the guitar escapade had been successful: no slip ups from Blaine, no urges to rip Blaine's leather jacket off with his teeth, and not only had they managed to wrangle the girls into the glee club, they had also added all ten names onto the sign up sheet without any thoughts of backing out. Kurt had opted out of the Dellie's trip scheduled for after school, feigning lack of sleep as an excuse. Blaine had protested violently with his eyes but Kurt insisted that he was fine; that he should practice without Kurt's direction and get closer to the boys. Though he would have gladly joined him, Kurt hadn't gained a second of alone time since Saturday after dinner, and he needed time to relax his overworked brain.

And so, alone at last, back into his memory seeped the pained look on his father's face when Kurt had confidently stated that he would take over the family business. It haunted him now, and tugged at the edges of his calm state as he massaged the hairspray out of his locks. Now going over it in his head the two options became clearer: nostalgia or disappointment.

Kurt would have been crazy if he preferred the latter, but something told him he wouldn't be surprised if it was. He knew he didn't live exactly up to the expectations of the average All American son. Sure he helped his dad out at the garage, and didn't cause too much trouble at school and was a respectful young adult. But there were those little things that he knew didn't get past his dad. The music perpetually streaming through his room, that was one thing, and his distinct taste in clothing when he wasn't working or out with the boys. And the deep-voiced, slouched over persona was too exhausting to uphold in the comfort of his own home, so surely his dad caught the difference between the two. But however Kurt figured that his dad must know something was up, Burt had never once acknowledged it. Kurt was Kurt and Burt was Burt and that was that.

To think that his dad was disappointed in him; it was both a foreign and a grimly unsurprising notion to consider.

But why would Kurt only be noticing this now, after seventeen years of living?

No, it had definitely started at dinner. Ever since then Kurt would catch his father observing him quietly, at dinner or watching TV on the couch, as if trying to read his very soul. Kurt didn't know if he liked it, and wished his dad would just say whatever it was that was on his mind to simply get it over with.

As if on cue, a small knock came from the ajar door. "Kurt?" came his father's voice.

"What's shakin', dad?" Kurt sighed from his bed. He had cast away the hairspray, shirt, and jacket from his body in favor of a pale blue Oxford and Vladimir Nabokov's _Lolita_.

"Carole says dinner will be ready in an hour," Burt said, easing into the doorway. "Meatloaf sound okay?"

"Well if it's _Carole_ making it," Kurt huffed in sarcasm before smiling. "Of course it's fine."

Burt smiled softly in return, that look in his eyes piercing his son once more. Kurt hoped his soul wasn't as easy to read as the book propped in his hand.

"Not out with the boys today?" Burt finally said.

"Needed some alone time," Kurt said truthfully. "And I thought I should let Blaine hang around more with the boys. Get to know them better."

"I'm glad he's fitting in," Burt said, making his way to the couch in the room and settling in it comfortably. "How's school looking?"

Kurt twisted his mouth into a line in debate before smiling. To heck with it; he would find out eventually.

"Really good, actually." He turned his gaze back to his book in an attempt at casualness. "I joined Glee club."

Kurt could have sworn he heard his father's breath hitch. Just barely. But it was more likely he had imagined the sound as his dad said gruffly, "What d'you do in there?"

Kurt shrugged. "Sing, I guess. Tryouts start next week."

Burt seemed to hesitate before saying, "What do the boys think of that?"

"They joined too," Kurt said.

"Really," Burt said incredulously. Kurt just nodded, as if it weren't the biggest deal in the world. "Well good, I guess. That you guys have something to do together other than just... parade around town."

Kurt laughed a little at this. "Yeah. It'll be a nice change, I guess."

There was a pause before Burt said lightly, "I didn't know you liked to sing."

Kurt looked up from his book to meet his father's gaze. Analyzed for the second time in five minutes. He imperceptibly slouched into himself, as if that would close off whatever might be threatening to break through into sight.

"Now you do," Kurt said, breaking the silence and turning back to his book. He mentally cursed his cheeks from flaming up in awkward, unforeseen embarrassment.

Burt took this as a sign to leave. "Well, dinner in an hour," he said in finality, and closed the door gently behind him.

Kurt exhaled the breath he had been holding in. This was going to get exhausting if his dad didn't just come out with it soon.

* * *

><p>"<em>Why can't you be more like other boys your age?"<em>

"_Sometimes I wish you were born as someone else."_

"_You sicken me."_

Okay, so this was getting a little out of hand.

After a week, Kurt couldn't stop imagining the things that could come spewing out of his father's mouth at every second; every time he looked at him with those torn eyes. The possibilities were wrecking Kurt. What if he had caught Blaine and him on one of the days (which were nearly all of them) they spent together in Kurt's room? What if he was finally fed up with Kurt's quirks, and just wanted a normal son? What if he was disappointed with the man Kurt had become?

"I can't take it anymore!" Kurt finally burst out across the loud music in his room, the morning before they were to perform solos in Glee club to ascertain their participation in the club. Blaine, sprawled across the couch, started in alarm and promptly dropped the sheet music he had been studying.

"Can't take _what?_" he gasped.

"My dad, he- it's hard to explain, I-" he shut his mouth once he realized no comprehensive words were about to come from it.

Blaine reached out a hand to Kurt and dragged him to sit on the couch beside him. Kurt picked up the papers Blaine had dropped and straightened them to ease his nervous energy.

"He's acting loopy," Kurt said in his loss for words. "Whenever I walk into a room he'll look at me with this sad look on his face like his puppy just died or something. And it's horrible because I feel like all of a sudden I've done something to disappoint him."

Blaine took the sheet music from Kurt's hands to free them up for his own. "I'm sure it's nothing bad. I know your dad, he loves you a lot. Whatever is on his mind he'll say eventually. But if it's bothering you, you should talk to him about it."

Kurt twisted his mouth into a contemplative line. "Yeah. I guess." He looked at Blaine and chanced a quick peck to his lips. "Thanks."

"Any time," Blaine smiled goofily. "Now tell me, Elvis or Broadway?"

* * *

><p>"Kurt."<p>

"Hey Dad," Kurt said later that day from under a black Chrysler. He had been working in the shop for a good two hours on this stubborn car. "Could you hand me that wrench over there?"

"Uh, sure kid," Burt said, tossing him the tool.

"Thanks," Kurt muttered, going back to work.

"Hey son?" Burt asked hesitantly.

"Yes, Dad?" Kurt said vaguely, focusing on the task at hand. This screw just would… not… come… _loose-_

"I need to talk to you for a minute."

"Shoot," Kurt grunted, finally pulling out the stubborn little thing.

"Let me see your face, kid," Burt requested.

Kurt clambered out from under the car and up to his feet to find himself face to face with the hesitant, guarded expression of his father. Something about the look set Kurt's heart at a loud and quickening pace.

"What's going on?" Kurt queried, wiping his face and hands with a rag.

Burt's mouth hardened into a deliberating line as he crossed his arms self-consciously over his chest. "You remember dinner at the Anderson's?" he finally asked.

"Yes sir," Kurt responded nervously.

"And we were talking about… jobs. And the future. And such."

Kurt only furrowed his brow further, knowing this was what he had been waiting for but at the same time wondering where it was going.

"And you said…" Burt gulped, and it only set Kurt's nerves more on edge. "You said you were going to take over the shop. Right out of high school. You just shot out your answer to Mr. Anderson like, I don't know, like you were a robot or something."

His dad was rambling. He _never_ rambled. Or fidgeted uncomfortably like that, and it scared Kurt half to death that he couldn't predict where this conversation was headed.

"Because that's the plan dad," he smiled, a little panicked. "It always has been. Nothing's changed, right?"

Burt closed his eyes in a pained moment. "Kurt… have I ever told you I want you to take over the shop?"

Kurt frowned incredulously. "Well yeah, of course, I-" but he paused mid-thought. _Had_ his father ever asked, even _implied_ his input in Kurt's future? Now that he thought about it, he never really had. It was just something that Kurt assumed naturally about the way things were: Sam was going to take over his dad's bank, Blaine was going to be a lawyer like his dad, Mike was going to be the next owner of the local jazz club. Boys did what their fathers did, no questions asked… And yet, Kurt and his dad were different. There was a dynamic there that was peculiarly open, respectful in a way different than "Yes sir, no sir" because not only did Kurt respect his father, Burt respected his son as well. So maybe it _wasn't_ natural to assume Kurt would follow the path of the rest of the boys his age. Maybe there was a chance, even the smallest chance that he could… that he would be allowed to…

"What are you saying, Dad?" Kurt muttered, awestruck.

Burt sighed. "What I'm saying is… I don't want you to take over the shop. I mean I do, it would be great for me, but only if you want to." He paused, gathering his thoughts as he put a hand on Kurt's shoulder. "What I'm trying to say, son, is I want you to be the best you can be. Whatever you want to be. You're sharp, kid. And I don't want you to waste that mind of yours on a dingy old shop when you could be applying yourself in a more prestigious position. But what's important to me, I need you to understand, is that I want you to be what you want, and whatever that is I'm going to support you to the best of my ability."

Kurt couldn't think. His mind was reeling. All the possibilities- his dad, _his own dad,_ was going to support him _no matter what_; that meant that Kurt could tell him. Tell him _everything._ His dreams for New York, and Broadway, and fashion, and Blaine-

Well, it was best to play it safe. For now.

Kurt gazed in wide-eyed revelation at his dad, who was waiting for his response anxiously.

"You… mean that dad?" Kurt stammered finally.

"I've never said anything to you I didn't mean," Burt smiled faintly.

"Well I…" Kurt swallowed the restricting doubts and fears. "I think that it would be fair… since you were honest with me, that I should be honest with you. Respectfully, sir." Kurt stuttered out, wringing his hands together.

"Go ahead son," Burt smiled, tightening his grip on Kurt's shoulder. Kurt brings a hand up to lightly rest on his father's.

"I… know. What I want to do." He bit his lip and shifted his gaze to the floor, away from his dad's expectant eyes. But it turned out that letting loose his biggest, most important goal in life that he had kept close to his heart for so long was easier than he thought it would be.

"I want to be… on Broadway," he choked. "I want to sing and act, on Broadway."

Burt searched for his son's gaze. But Kurt's eyes were trained steadfastly on his shoes, heart pounding wildly because he just _spilled_ his biggest god damn dream and secret he's ever had to the very man he's been afraid wouldn't approve of it and he's pretty sure he's going to implode from all of the built up tension leaving him after all the years.

"Hey, look at me," Burt asked softly. Kurt forced himself to obey, expecting to see disappointment, or nostalgia, but instead finding love and adoration.

"Why," Burt asked, "Do you say that like you're ashamed of it?"

Kurt's jaw fell open to speak, but a knot in his throat made it impossible. Burt leaned in closer, placing both hand's on his son's shoulders.

"Listen to me. You wanna sing and dance and act? That's what you wanna do for a living?"

Kurt nodded.

"Then that's what you're gonna do. Not a lot of people are going to love you for it, but I will. I've heart those records from your room every now and then, and they're not exactly my cup of tea but they're entertaining and _someone's_ gotta make those shows successful. And you know what? If anyone can do it, it's you."

Kurt continued to stare, heart bursting at the seams.

"Now shut your mouth kid, you're not a codfish."

"Yes, sir," Kurt immediately closed his dropped jaw.

A moment passed in which Burt studied Kurt's face and vice versa before Burt pulled him into an awkward, albeit cathartic embrace.

"Alright kid? Good," Burt said bracingly as he patted Kurt's back and pulled away. "So. You spending time with Blaine today?"

"Yes sir, in an hour?" Kurt smiled widely, suddenly feeling weightless.

Burt smiled back. "Get out of here, kid. Go meet him early, I've got it handled here."

"Thanks dad," Kurt breathed, grabbing a Coke on his way out. "And dad?"

Burt turned to his son. "Yeah?"

"If you wouldn't mind… not mentioning what we talked about to anyone? Besides maybe Carol-"

"Wouldn't dream of it, kid," Burt grinned.

"Thanks," Kurt beamed, striding out of the garage into brilliant sunshine.

* * *

><p>"<em>Oh Venus! Make my wish come true!"<em>

"_Oooh, oooh... oooh!"_

Kurt and Blaine burst into laughter at the end of the song, basking in the sunset and residing in the backseat of Kurt's convertible with the top up and the radio blasting. Kurt had brought him here, to his favorite place, not because of the implication it held being infested with cars filled with heated teenagers but for the view of the twinkling city in the red and orange light.

Kurt slumped against the door interior opposite Blaine, tangling their outstretched legs together. "Have I ever told you how glad I am to have met you?"

"Never explicitly but always implied," Blaine chuckled. "Who else would sing Frankie Avalon at the top of his lungs with you?"

"That's not the only reason," Kurt teased, playing with the laces of Blaine's converse-covered foot that rested on Kurt's knee.

"I know," Blaine hinted suggestively, and another fit of giggles ensued.

"So something funny happened today," Kurt said casually, though he had been itching to bring it up all day.

"Do tell," Blaine settled back in his seat to listen.

"My dad talked to me," Kurt began.

"Did he tell you why he was acting loopy?" Blaine grinned.

"Yeah, I guess," Kurt laughed, and paused, mulling the words over in his head. "He told me that I can be whoever I want to be."

It looked as though Blaine had forgotten how to breathe. "Do you- did he mean-"

"No," Kurt blushed. "No, not like that... I don't think so but maybe, someday? He told me he wanted me to make a living however I wanted to, that he didn't want me to waste myself on his car shop, because he wanted me to do what I want to do."

"And what did you say?" Blaine breathed.

"I said I wanted to be on Broadway," Kurt gushed.

"And?" Blaine leaned forward enthusiastically.

"He said that I could, and that I should!" Kurt enthused, leaning forward to grasp Blaine's hands.

"Kurt, wow, golly gee whiz!" Blaine literally squealed, bouncing a little in his seat. "Just imagine, you on a stage singing for thousands of people..."

"It's only the biggest dream of my life! It never seemed possible before," Kurt sighed excitedly. "But now... Holy cow. I feel so free. And if all my dad wants is me to be happy then maybe eventually I'll be able to tell him that you... that I'm..."

Kurt trailed off, feeling suddenly uncomfortable.

"There's a word for it, Kurt," Blaine said softly. Brushing Kurt's hands with his thumbs.

"I know," Kurt muttered. "But.. it's easier to... it just sounds like... I've never really..."

"But you are- aren't you?" Blaine pressed cautiously.

Kurt hesitated. He knew he liked Blaine but did that apply to all boys in general?

"You don't have to decide, Kurt," Blaine said quickly. "I've just never talked about this with anyone, you know?"

"It's just that-" and Kurt didn't know why his eyes were suddenly brimming with tears, "-It's hard to admit that I'm something that isn't... right."

His voice broke but Blaine kneaded his hands comfortingly. "I understand. All that's important to me is that you feel that way about me. That you're not... ashamed. Of what we do. Or what we have."

Blaine looked earnestly at Kurt, eyes sparkling with hope.

"No," Kurt asserted. "Never. Not what we do, not us. Just... the way people would see it. That's what I hate. But no, never you, how could I hate that? It's..." Kurt gulped self-consciously. "The best thing that's ever happened to me, I think. Just because I've never been happier."

Apparently those were the magic words because Blaine smiled his megawatt smile and, after glancing around to make sure the owners cars nearest them were out of sight, leaned forward to kiss Kurt's cheek. But Kurt turned his head just in time to catch Blaine's lips with his own, hands untangling from his to twine in Blaine's hair.

Blaine hummed happily against Kurt's mouth, and Kurt couldn't help but pull closer, lips dancing messily against Blaine's. How on Earth could anyone deem this _wrong?_ Feeling this way- like he was on top of the world, like nothing will ever go wrong ever again, like fireworks are exploding all over; big bursting ribbons of color and light dancing round and round his heart.

And, because there was no way to deny that feeling, Kurt said it out loud.

"I am," Kurt blurted, pulling away from Blaine. "Boys. I like boys, and will never like anything other than boys but especially you. I like you a lot. Most of all. Of all the boys," he stuttered out, blinking rapidly, face flushing and brain rewired by the kiss.

Blaine was rendered speechless, reduced to smiling blindingly bright and leaning his head against Kurt's. They stayed like that, smiling and breathing together, blocking out the world that they knew they would have to face eventually. In the silence the blasting radio came back into focus.

_Always lived, very quiet life  
>I ain't never did no wrong<br>Now I know that life without you  
>Has been too lonely too long<em>

But then that smile, the one Kurt loved so much, faded into something... different.

And, well, Kurt was thinking that maybe different wasn't so bad, if it meant _this,_ the dark knowing look in Blaine's eyes, the soft upturn of his lips, the way his eyebrows settled in just this perfect spot above his eyes.

And Kurt just had enough time to process this look before Blaine was crushing Kurt into the leather upholstery.

Alright, so Kurt and Blaine were best friends who liked kissing a lot. That had been established a while ago. But that knowledge had always come alongside a warm, fuzzy sort of feeling, a sense of comfort and togetherness.

This was definitely _not _warm and fuzzy, to say the least. If Kurt had to pinpoint the precise feeling he probably would have said... hot. Or desperate. Or-

"Oh god," Kurt gasped for breath when Blaine freed his lips to attack his throat. "Blaine," his voice was coming out a little more ragged than he was used to. "What if someone sees?"

Blaine paused, hovering over Kurt. "No one will see," he reassured him weakly. "It's dark."

Somehow this, combined with the persuasive hot and twisting feeling in Kurt's stomach, was a legitimate excuse.

"Besides," Blaine grinned. "I don't think people _seeing_ will be the problem."

"What- ahhhngmmm," Kurt's protest was cut off by a noisy moan as Blaine latched onto a spot behind his ear and _sucked._

"You were saying?" Blaine breathed after a minute of listening to Kurt's beautifully breathy noises that were almost immediately drowned by the static-y radio.

Kurt grunted in assent and pulled the lapels of Blaine's leather jacket closer only to rip it off altogether, something he had been waiting to do for at least a week. Blaine made a satisfied noise and brought his hands under Kurt to pull him closer as they kissed. Blaine's tongue danced hungrily on Kurt's teeth, dragging in and out and it felt so god damn _right-_

"Blaine," Kurt almost sobbed as he pulled away. "This is- we can't-"

"I know," Blaine said softly, pressing light kisses to Kurt's jaw as he spoke. "I know we can't. But I want to," Blaine said. "I want to kiss you like everyone else here is and I want it to _be_ as right as it feels."

Kurt's resolve was slowly slipping away. He brought his mouth down to Blaine's for a lush, lingering touch. He knew what they were doing was wrong. All the signs pointed to it. But as he ran his tongue alongside Blaine's, and as he felt warm, firm hands underneath him, he started to wonder. Their kisses picked up a pace and the heat was so intense that the lines were blurring, and Kurt was holding on to that thought, that it wasn't right but he was kind of forgetting exactly what right was.

And then Blaine made the smallest, most infinitesimal sigh of a moan into his mouth and Kurt was gone.

Kurt's hands were everywhere, in Blaine's hair and up his shirt and on his hips and he just couldn't _stop. _A warm haze took over his brain as Blaine made appreciative noises to his fingers, kissing Kurt's lips earnestly. Kurt's hands finally came to rest halfway under the waistband of Blaine's jeans at his hips, and Blaine hummed contentedly as he sucked Kurt's tongue into his mouth. Kurt inhaled harshly and brought his hands to Blaine's back to pull him closer and was surprised by a sharp, unexpected ribbon of pleasure as their straining jeans brushed just barely against each other.

Kurt's heart stopped.

Ever since that day on the bed before Finn barged in neither of them had dared take it farther than kissing. Because kissing was safe, and relatively innocent and easy to justify. Kissing was kissing; no big deal. It was when kissing led to other things that it became problematic. They hadn't discussed it, but that was how it had turned out. A mutual, unspoken agreement.

And now here they were.

Both bodies froze, staring at each other with a mixture of fear and longing, and mistily through his overloaded brain Kurt realized it was similar to that first night, just after their first kiss, when Blaine looked ready to either run or come closer.

Keeping his eyes on Kurt, Blaine very slowly lowered his hips again experimentally.

Kurt's eyes fluttered shut, head lolling as his breath hitched.

When Blaine rolled his hips down again Kurt arched up to meet him, pulling a shuddering moan from Blaine's throat. Kurt didn't know how they got there, but his hands were pushing down on Blaine's ass, pulling him closer and Blaine's arms wrapped around Kurt's back and they were kissing sloppily, all teeth and tongue, in time to their moving hips.

A vague instinct in Kurt told him to stop, that it wasn't right, battling with another, more vivid instinct to lose the pants, _now._ But he shoved both down because he was really, really, painfully close and Blaine felt perfect in his arms and they felt perfect together and the sounds Blaine was making sent hot spasms down to that spot _right there_ where it counts and all he could think to do was make a desperate sort of noise and pull Blaine closer and thrust harder.

"Kurt," Blaine's voice was rough in his ear. Kurt moaned breathily in response.

"Yes," was all Blaine could manage to choke out, and Kurt didn't know what he was talking about but it didn't really matter because it was all so much, all terrifyingly new, and he could feel the weight of every single inhibition he'd ever had lift off his shoulders with every new wave of pleasure that ripped through him.

"Kurt," Blaine seemed to remember his train of thought from earlier as he dug his forehead into Kurt's shoulder for support. "I'm so- I think I'm- I can't-"

Without breaking their rhythm Kurt grabbed at Blaine's curls to look him in the eye. He could see in the dim light that the hazel rims were nearly invisible, blown out by full, black need and moist with desperation. And Kurt's voice was an octave lower than it should be, and his mind wasn't functioning on levels proper for comprehensive speech, probably due to the coiling, spiraling heat tightly pooling in his abdomen, but he had to say what had been lingering on his brain and had been growing more vivid behind the warm and happy haze ever since about ten minutes ago. He threw back his head and growled for anyone who cared to hear yet only for Blaine.

"This is fucking_ right_."

Blaine sobbed and then they were riding waves of ecstasy together, and Kurt heard a cry of sheer bliss and a shaking moan and several exclamations but he didn't know where they're coming from nor did he care because white hot stars were burning behind his eyelids and his body was shuddering against Blaine's, suspended in time in a too-long and too-short climax that would never be enough and would at the same time be too much.

Blaine slid in beside Kurt on the seat so that they were pressed flush together, hands and legs tangled as they caught their breath.

"Blaine," Kurt finally whispered, for now, unlike a few minutes ago, he was absolutely terrified of someone overhearing even his voice.

Blaine buried his head in Kurt's neck in response.

"What did we just do?" he choked, barely breathing.

Blaine chuckled spastically under his breath, obviously punch-drunk. "When a man and a woman love each other very much-"

"No, shit, Blaine," Kurt's voice shook with either silent laughs or sobs, he couldn't tell. "We just... this has... changed things."

Blaine pulled back as much as possible to widen his eyes in fear. "For better or for worse?"

"I... I don't know," Kurt closed his eyes. "Depends on the way you look at it."

"Alright, you listen to me," Blaine slurred quietly, high off of endorphins or something of the like. "You can say whatever the hell you please, but you know that _that_ right there, what just happened, was amazing."

Kurt whimpered at the memory, snuggling impossibly closer to him.

Noses side by side, Blaine continued against his lips. "And I don't care what _anybody_ outside of this car says, it will always _be_ amazing. And I don't care whether it means I'm insane or the world is, but I never want to stop feeling they way I feel when I'm with you, whether you're smiling at me or kissing me or doing _crazy things _to my head and my body and me in a car in the dark."

"Blaine-" Kurt tried to kiss him but Blaine wasn't finished yet.

"And one day," Blaine said in between kisses, "We're going to get out of this hick town and follow our dreams. Sound like a plan?"

"Yes. The best plan I've ever heard," Kurt twined their fingers tighter.

After a moment of reveling in the afterglow, Kurt winced. "Blaine."

"Mmhmm?" he sounded just as uncomfortable.

"I feel positively disgusting." Kurt shifted his legs slightly, not enjoying the sticky sensation between them.

"Join the club," Blaine laughed tightly, and sighed. "I'll never forget that song now."

"What song?" Kurt frowned, tuning into the radio that was now singing Johnny Cash.

Blaine put on his best Elvis impression, "_One night with you..."_

Unfortunately Blaine's Elvis impression included signature hip movements as well, and Kurt put a hand between their too-close bodies to stop him.

"Blaine!" he giggled. "Save your Elvis pelvis for sometime when we're not two millimeters away from each other, okay?"

"So that means I have permission to use the Elvis pelvis at _any other _time?" Blaine smiled darkly.

"You have no shame," Kurt laughed, but silenced to consider. "Let's take it slow, okay?"

"Alright," Blaine laughed along with Kurt. They had a few hours left in their fantasy world, and spent it talking and kissing and dreaming, invisible in sight and mute in sound due to barely twinkling stars and a static-y car radio.

They knew that what they had was right, and they wanted someday for others to see that, too.

But for now, this would be enough.

_One night with you  
>Is what I'm now praying for<br>The things that we two could plan  
>Would make my dreams come true.<em>


	9. Something's Coming

_I went on a writing spree! Normally it takes about a week to complete a chapter start to finish but I powerhoused through it in like two days. Partially because I got inspired by the costumes in Bye Bye Birdie and partially because I've had the end of this chapter planned since the beginning of the story. So have fun sifting through the random sporadicness that is this chapter.  
><em>

_Just a little comment to shamelessly plug one of my current favorite reads, I've been reading another Klaine 1950s fic called Light in the Loafers by fabfemmefics. _I hope it's okay that I'm mentioning it here, since I didn't ask permission, but it's only kind words. _It's literally mindblowingly awesome but I feel like such a copycat; even though I hadn't known about it when I started the story there are so many similarities in plot points. So yeah. If you like old-fashioned!Klaine, go read it. _

_Also, I'm enabling Anonymous reviewers. Just to see what happens. But if I get stupid or really mean comments I'll just disable it again so be smart, please.  
><em>

_Just a warning, this is the last fluffy chapter before shit gets intense. So enjoy, and as always, let me know your thoughts!_

* * *

><p>It was a miracle that, with most of his time last night occupied by shenanigans with Blaine, Kurt had managed to get a tight grip on his audition piece for Glee club. It wasn't something to really worry about, since auditions were mostly for show because Mr. Schuester was so desperate for members. But Kurt being Kurt, he needed everything he did to be perfect. And his voice's first public exposure (if Mr. Schue and an empty audience counted as "public exposure") was no exception.<p>

The group crowded around the entrance to the stage, goofing off as they waited to be called for their turn. The only people who seemed to be taking the whole debacle seriously were Rachel Berry and... well, just Rachel, actually. Even Kurt, Blaine, and Artie (the only technically non-Greaser or Pink Lady members) were managing to have a good time laughing at Mike's impression of Principal Figgins.

Rachel was the first to go, and no one (except, of course, Finn) seemed to miss her or even notice she was gone until she exited the stage door with a flourish.

"Make way for Sandra Dee," Santana trilled, flouncing her hair.

Rachel flashed her an icy glare. "I refuse to crumble under your hateful words," she huffed, before turning to Blaine. "Mr. Schuester politely asks you to enter next."

"Part the red sea," Puck joked, bowing down to him as the crowd parted in the middle to allow Blaine, strutting pretentiously, through. "See you on the other side, friends," he announced, saluting them before disappearing through the stage door.

The frivolity immediately started up again, and Kurt shifted his gaze to make sure he wouldn't be missed before slipping through the door after Blaine.

"-Thank you, sir," Blaine was saying as Kurt ascended the stairs to reach the platform of the stage.

The jazz band began to play just as he peeked through the wings, fingering the curtain, watching Blaine in the stage lights.

_"The summer wind came blowin' in from across the sea  
>It lingered there to touch your hair and walk with me<em>

_All summer long we sang a song  
>And then we strolled that golden sand<br>Two sweethearts and the summer wind"_

Kurt smiled to himself, half-hiding his face in the curtain as Blaine shed his leather jacket, throwing it blindly and into Kurt's direction. For some reason, Kurt couldn't help but apply the song, one of his personal favorites, to himself. Or more precisely, himself and Blaine.

Blaine was a brilliant performer, dancing enthusiastically with the microphone-stand; he was a natural star. His calling was obviously as he had stated it; he was made to sing for an audience.

_"Like painted kites, those days and nights went flying by  
>The world was new beneath the blue umbrella sky<em>

_Then softer than a piper man, one day it called to you  
>I lost you to the summer wind"<br>_

Well there was the difference. Kurt wasn't going anywhere.

_"The autumn wind and the winter wind, they have come and gone  
>And still those days, those lonely days go on and on<br>And guess who sighs his lullabies through nights that never end  
>My fickle friend, the summer wind<br>The summer wind, warm summer wind  
>Mmm the summer wind..."<em>

Blaine finished off the song with a lasting caress to the mic-stand, eyes fluttering shut with a bright smile that was specific to that feeling of complete accomplishment.

Kurt added his silent clapping to Mr. Schuester's from the seats before reaching down to pick up Blaine's jacket.

"That was super, Mr. Anderson," he was laughing. "You've got something special."

Blaine's smile grew wider. "Thank you, sir."

Mr. Schuester mumbled something to Blaine, who nodded and exited the stage, jumping a little when he spotted Kurt.

"Super, Mr. Anderson," Kurt smirked, handing him his jacket.

"Well shucks, thanks so much," Blaine beamed back. "Good thing you're already here; you're next."

Kurt's smile dropped in a flash.

"You'll be great," Blaine smiled supportively, clapping Kurt's shoulder.

"Please don't watch," Kurt pleaded.

"You know just because you said that I will," Blaine chuckled, settling into Kurt's previous spot in the wings. Kurt groaned, so Blaine continued, "I've heard you so many times before. This is no different, right?"

"Yeah, it's different!" Kurt hissed. "There are stage lights and a live band and an enormous room to sing to instead of my tiny bedroom-"

"Zip it and sing," Blaine instructed, promptly pushing Kurt onstage.

Kurt blinked temporarily in the light and in the few moments it took for his eyes to adjust it was as if he had taken a step onto Cloud Nine.

It was like he had fallen into a dream.

A dream in which thousands of people sat in seats, all eyes on him, the stage all to himself. He was the star of the show, and everyone loved him for it.

And then his eyes refocused, settling on Mr. Shuester smiling in the audience.

"Hello Kurt. What will you be singing today?"

"Something's Coming, from West Side Story," Kurt announced confidently. Just being on stage was pumping his adrenaline. He belonged here.

And as if on cue, the band behind him began to play, sending the familiar notes flying into the empty audience and surrounding Kurt like a safety net. It was funny how music you love could do that, be anything you needed it to be whenever you needed it.

He had originally planned to stay glued to the microphone at center stage for the number, but once faced with a practically empty stage at his fingertips he ended up with a few theatrics; it couldn't be helped when he was just so at home up there.

_"Could be!  
>Who knows?<br>There's something due any day;  
>I will know right away,<br>Soon as it shows.  
>It may come cannonballing down through the sky,<br>Gleam in its eye,  
>Bright as a rose!<em>

_Who knows?_  
><em>It's only just out of reach,<em>  
><em>Down the block, on a beach,<em>  
><em>Under a tree.<em>  
><em>I got a feeling there's a miracle due,<em>  
><em>Gonna come true,<em>  
><em>Coming to me!<em>

_Could it be? Yes, it could._  
><em>Something's coming, something good,<em>  
><em>If I can wait!<em>  
><em>Something's coming, I don't know what it is,<em>  
><em>But it is<em>  
><em>Gonna be great!<em>

_With a click, with a shock,_  
><em>Phone'll jingle, door'll knock,<em>  
><em>Open the latch!<em>  
><em>Something's coming, don't know when, but it's soon;<em>  
><em>Catch the moon,<em>  
><em>One-handed catch!<em>

_Around the corner,_  
><em>Or whistling down the river,<em>  
><em>Come on, deliver<em>  
><em>To me!<em>  
><em>Will it be? Yes, it will.<em>  
><em>Maybe just by holding still,<em>  
><em>It'll be there!<em>

_Come on, something, come on in, don't be shy,_  
><em>Meet a guy,<em>  
><em>Pull up a chair!<em>  
><em>The air is humming,<em>  
><em>And something great is coming!<em>  
><em>Who knows?<em>  
><em>It's only just out of reach,<em>  
><em>Down the block, on a beach,<em>  
><em>Maybe tonight . . ."<em>

He ended with a dramatic flourish, eliciting wild clapping from Mr. Schue in the audience. Kurt barely even noticed, he was on such a performance-high.

"Amazing, Kurt. I never would have even thought, the way you're so quiet in class! Great job. Now, would you send Sam in, please?"

Kurt hoped his brain had committed those words to memory, the first words spoken after his first ever public singing appearance, as he practically floated off stage. He was vaguely taking in Blaine's praise; but he didn't absorb much, and continued down the stairs and out the door back into the group.

Well, if there was one thing he learned today, it was that if there was any doubt before about deviating from his previous future at the car shop, there certainly was none now.

* * *

><p>Kurt lay sprawled on his stomach the next day, legs kicking idly and records surrounding him on the rug of his floor. It was about time he rearranged his records, and he was just wondering whether to do it alphabetically or chronologically when the phone rang.<p>

He started at the thing for at least five seconds in confusion before he realized he should answer it. No one _ever_ called him; there was no need when everyone in Lima lived within less of a mile of each other.

He grabbed the phone from where it lay, dusty and lonesome, on the stand beside the couch.

"Hello?"

"Hi there Miss, would Kurt Hummel happen to be home?" sang a familiar voice.

Kurt chuckled, laying down on the couch and resting the base of the phone on his lap. "This is he. Would this happen to be a Mr. Anderson?"

He heard a most beautifully bashful laugh. "Why, yes it is."

"To what do I owe this honor?" Kurt twirled the phone cord around his finger.

"Well, I was wondering..." Blaine's voice faltered oddly on the other line, and he cleared his throat before continuing. "...Wondering if you were free this afternoon."

Kurt couldn't contain the grin spreading wide across his face. Was he, for the first time in his young life, getting asked out on a date?

In his giddiness he seemed to forget the fact that he was indeed a boy, not a girl.

"I think I might be," Kurt sighed coyly. "Considering that it's my... best friend who's asking me."

Kurt knew Blaine noticed the hesitation before the term of endearment in the way he chuckled privately to himself. "Well good. I thought we could maybe let loose a little bit, go out in something other than leather jackets and jeans."

Kurt hesitated. "Are you sure that's a good-"

"Oh don't worry about _that,_" Blaine interrupted. "There's a ballgame down at the pitch today, and anyone who matters is going to be there. Straight from Puck's mouth."

"Well then," Kurt grinned, appreciative of his... best friend's (he didn't want to just make any assumptions about what they were, after all) thoroughness, "I guess the ballgame will be two people short this afternoon. What do you have in mind?"

"I thought we'd revert back to summer days," Blaine sighed indulgently. "Pistachio milkshake at Dellie's? And then we could hit up that new record store down the street once Dellie's starts to attract the post-ballgame rush? And then maybe..." But he paused.

"What?" Kurt smiled to himself, heart pounding.

"Well I thought that maybe... we could, you know. Go to the drive-in," Blaine cleared his throat self-consciously, and then there was absolutely no doubt in Kurt's mind. This was _definitely_ a date.

"I'd like that very much," Kurt said softly.

He could practically hear Blaine's brilliant smile on the other end of the line. "Super," he breathed. "I'll pick you up in an hour?"

"What should I wear?" Kurt gushed.

"Whatever the hell you want," Blaine chuckled. "Anything you choose looks great anyway."

Kurt was glad for the dozen blocks separating them when his cheeks heated up pleasantly. "I like the sound of that," he trilled.

"See you in an hour," Blaine said.

"Can't wait," Kurt replied, and untangled his hands from the phone cord to hang up the receiver.

An hour later Dellie's was, as Blaine promised, devoid of any high-school persona. After at least half-an-hour of deliberation, Kurt had finally decided on a light blue-and-pink striped short-sleeved collared shirt, matched with slim grey slacks plus white Converse and bowtie. He admired Blaine's navy cardigan and forest-green polo shirt as they took their usual seats at the bar, and Mr. Brown sidled up to them immediately.

"I haven't seen you boys in ages," he grinned.

"We thought we'd treat ourselves today," Blaine explained.

"The usual?" Kurt smiled, reveling in the fact that he and Blaine actually had a _usual._

"Coming right up," Mr. Brown said before speeding off to fulfill the order.

"So," Kurt looked at Blaine.

"So," Blaine peeked at Kurt.

"What's playing at the drive-in tonight?" Kurt queried.

"Some Like it Hot. It seemed right up your alley."

"Sounds perfect," Kurt agreed.

They sat in unawkward silence until their order came. It wasn't that they had nothing to talk about, it was just that they had nothing to say in favor of simply enjoying each other's presence.

Mr. Brown set down their shake and left with a wide grin. Kurt and Blaine exchanged glances, looking at each other a little too knowingly as they picked up the cherries.

"This kind of takes on a new meaning, doesn't it?" Blaine whispered.

"Not that much has changed," Kurt looked away from Blaine's intense stare. "You always win anyway. Your tongue is just that skilled."

Blaine blushed furiously at this. "Three, two, one, go!"

Kurt lay his elbow on the counter, cheek in his hand as he worked, staring off into space because he had now trained himself _not _to watch Blaine's jaw moving in the way that it did. He was surprised when the knot came twisted in the stem so quickly, and he pulled it out delicately, rather proud of himself.

"Hey look, I actually got it this time-"

He looked at Blaine and froze. He wasn't done yet.

"Got it!" Blaine finally said, pulling out the stem, but his face fell when he saw the shocked look on Kurt's face, tied knot in hand.

It seemed stupid to assign meaning to a silly cherry stem, but Kurt couldn't shake the very vivid thought that _he_ was a better kisser than _Blaine_ and it was _Blaine _that made that happen.

Something of the like seemed to be running through Blaine's head as well, because his gaze shot down to Kurt's mouth just as Kurt's shot down to Blaine's, and they were both lunging for each others' lips simultaneously before reality got there just in the nick of time.

They pulled away sharply, with a force that left Kurt spinning a little in his chair and Blaine nearly knocking over the milkshake with the arm he had on the counter. They looked around wildly to see that luckily, most of the residents of Lima were oblivious to anything or anyone but themselves.

"Damn, that was close," Blaine blushed.

"No more cherry-stem contests in public," Kurt squeaked.

"But- you- you could never even tie a knot over summer- and-" Blaine stammered.

"We'll... _discuss_ this matter later, alright?" Kurt muttered pointedly, still glancing around nervously. "Perhaps at the _drive-in?"_

Blaine looked at him blankly.

"_With the windows rolled up?"_ Kurt hinted.

Still nothing.

"In the _backseat?_ Come on, Blaine," Kurt hissed, snapping his fingers.

"_Oh," _The lightbulb finally went on over Blaine's head before he flushed and ducked down to sip the milkshake. "Yes, _yes._ Of course."

"I still can't believe I'm a better kisser than you," Kurt sighed, shaking his head in disbelief.

"I can," Blaine said with a dark grin on his face.

"I thought we were saving this for later," Kurt scolded.

"You brought it up again!" Blaine laughed.

Kurt rolled his eyes. "Okay, change of subject. I'm rearranging my records."

"No!" Blaine protested. "I _just_ managed to memorize where each one was."

"Not everything revolves around you, Blaine," Kurt pointed out.

Blaine harumphed and sipped the shake angrily. "Fine. Alphabetical or chronological?"

"Just the two options I was considering," Kurt gasped in awe.

"I know you too well," Blaine said, and Kurt laughed, basking in the glory of summer-turning-into-autumn days spent with a best friend in the clothes he liked sharing a milkshake with no judging high school status-quo-patroling eyes to judge them.

Lord knows those days were few.

* * *

><p>Once they had spotted the first stragglers leaving early from the ballgame trudging towards the Ice Cream Bar, Kurt and Blaine sneaked out the back to visit Turner's Records. After several hours of deliberation, including Kurt's daring purchase of the original cast recording of Showboat and talking Blaine out of spending too much money on an Elvis album that Kurt already owned ("But I want to listen to it when I'm not with you," had been Blaine's argument, to which Kurt responded sagely, "But you're always with me"), they had mozied on over to the drive-in.<p>

It had taken a while for Blaine to transport the refreshments, considering he was carrying two of everything (Kurt had opted to stay in the car so as to avoid a sticky situation in which people wondered why two boys were sharing a movie together in a car), but once the movie started they were nicely settled in the backseat with the top half-up, providing substantial privacy and coverage as well as a decent view of the screen.

They watched the movie in silence and at a relatively safe distance until the gangsters started chasing Joe and Jerry, when they ran out of popcorn and hotdogs to eat. Blaine threw the empty containers in the front seat for later and settled back in next to Kurt, and that was when things started to get... interesting, for lack of a better word.

It started when Blaine began to fidget a little, just enough to not go unnoticed by Kurt. He kept a close watch on the boy beside him through the corner of his eye, suddenly uninterested in the hilarity ensuing on the screen.

Blaine had now raised the arm closest to Kurt to awkwardly scratch at his hair before "casually" settling it down on the seat behind Kurt's head. Kurt had to physically bite down on his tongue to keep from laughing; Blaine was actually trying to _make the moves_ on him, as if they were some silly, romantic high school couple...

But wait. That's sort of what they were, Kurt thought with a small smile to himself.

He sighed in content as Blaine finally got up the courage to play at the skin of Kurt's neck, toying with the soft hair there.

But Blaine was still fidgeting.

"Blaine," Kurt finally said, deciding to put him out of his misery. "You've never had a problem with being close to me before."

Blaine's breath hitched, as if he had been caught red-handed. "I know, but... this is... different."

"How?" Kurt asked, curiosity masking the speeding of his heart.

Blaine twisted his mouth in deliberation. "Well, remember the last time we were at the movies?"

"Indeed I do," Kurt grinned knowingly, remembering his inability to even breathe with the tension between them before they finally cuddled into each other.

"Well, I wanted to hold you because I wanted to comfort you. To make you feel better. Because that's what friends do; they make each other feel safe and happy when they're having a bad day. Which is what I was doing. But now..." he hesitated.

"Yes?" Kurt encouraged.

"I want to hold you... because I want to hold you," Blaine finished, swallowing hard.

"Oh," Kurt said softly. Well, he had never thought about it that way before.

"And likewise," Blaine continued cautiously, "Just like I took you out that night to comfort you, I took you out tonight to- well, as a-"

Blaine seemed at a loss, so Kurt provided the word for him simply. "A date."

"I, well, um, yes, I suppose," Blaine stuttered, "If we, if two, guys, were allowed. To do that. That's what this would be. Yes."

Kurt opened his mouth to make a snide comment about Blaine's inarticulacy, but closed it to smile warmly instead. "Well for the record," he said, "You may hold me any time you like. When we're alone. Not that I wouldn't want you to when we were around people, but somehow I don't think they'd take to that kindly."

"Somehow, I think you're right," Blaine grinned. Kurt leaned in then, laying his head on Blaine's shoulder and Blaine comfortably wrapped his arm around his shoulders.

"Hey Blaine?" Kurt sighed.

"Yeah, Kurt?" Blaine said into his chestnut hair.

"I like dates," Kurt hummed, closing his eyes and breathing in Blaine and sinking into a happy place.

Blaine tightened his grip on Kurt, apparently lost in thought.

"Hey Kurt," he finally said.

"Yeah, Blaine?" Kurt murmured.

"Can I ask you a question?"

"Anything," Kurt said, forcing himself to stay alert despite the loopiness effected by Blaine's scent.

"When a boy and a girl like each other, they become boyfriend and girlfriend, right? They share milkshakes and listen to records together, and go on dates and invite each other to each other's houses, and kiss, and do... things in the backseats of cars sometimes. But we do the same things, yet we still consider each other best friends. So when a boy and a boy like each other, which I'm assuming doesn't happen very much, what do they become? When 'best friends' doesn't seem to fit anymore."

Kurt frowned into Blaine's shoulder, considering.

"I mean," Blaine clarified nervously, "Would we, you and I... is it possible that- would we be considered... boyfriends?"

Kurt could practically hear the sadly confused raised eyebrow in Blaine's voice.

"I don't know for sure. But I suppose," Kurt said slowly, and seriously, "That for our private purposes, that's what we could say. We are b-boyfriends." He stuttered on the last word simply because it sounded nice and funny and ticklish on his lips as he smiled.

"Good," Blaine confirmed professionally, "That's what I thought. And, like you said, for our private purposes, would 'boyfriends' adhere to the same social standards that a boyfriend and girlfriend would adhere to?"

"I'm not sure again," Kurt said, brain working around the mess of grey area they were constantly finding themselves in, yet always inadvertently agreeing to ignore. "But considering how we've progressed, it's pretty much in order, ignoring some little mix ups. Like each other, kiss, go together, go on a date. So yes, I'd say it's about the same, except it's all done in secret."

"I'm not crazy about the last part," Blaine said ruefully, "But other than that I think we're on the right track, then..." he trailed off slightly, and Kurt noticed that he shoved his hand into his cardigan pocket rather randomly.

They hadn't gotten far back into the movie, about the place where Jerry and Joe decided to become cross-dressers, before Kurt felt Blaine's eyes on him. He was just about to look over when Blaine finally spoke.

"Hey Kurt?" he whispered.

"Yeah, Blaine?" Kurt whispered back.

"I don't want to be the jerk to jump someone in the backseat at the drive in so... may I kiss you?"

Kurt did turn his head, then. "Yes please," Kurt smiled flirtatiously, and Blaine returned it before leaning in for a chaste kiss.

It wasn't like the last time they were in the backseat of a car; for one thing they stayed completely vertical, Blaine's arm securely around Kurt and for another thing they weren't engaging in an act resulting from sexual tension; they were simply enjoying each other, enjoying the intimacy they shared in colliding lips and dancing tongues.

"Kurt," Blaine finally broke away to look at his _boyfriend._ "I don't mean to keep bringing this up awkwardly but I want to be a gentleman about this. We've known that what we have here is right, no matter what people think, since a few days ago in your car when we... you know," Kurt could see the blush from the light emanating from the screen, and he squeezed Blaine's arm reassuringly with a small laugh. "Yeah, that," Blaine continued. "And since we're not going to pretend that we're just best friends who like kissing a lot, at least not in public, even though it's a pretty fitting description, I want to do this right. Not that _I_ have to be the one to do it right, you're a guy too, and just as capable of being the gentleman but they way it's worked out here, I'm kind of the boy and I guess you're the..."

"Stop Blaine," Kurt chuckled, interrupting the poor boy's stream-of-consciousness approach to romance. "Before you hurt yourself and offend me. You're a boyish boy and I'm a girlish boy, that's been settled. Please continue. And stop rambling, you don't have to be nervous around your best friend."

"Who I like kissing a lot," Blaine took a deep breath to calm himself. "Well, I'm not good at romance here. But I'm sure as hell willing to try. So now that we're going together, in secret nonetheless but still going together, I want to be honest with you."

Kurt's heart fluttered at the earnest sincerity in Blaine's sparkling eyes.

"I don't think you're just a pretty face," Blaine began. "Not that you aren't. You're _beautiful-" _Kurt blushed happily, "-But that's not what I see when I look at you. I see someone smart and sarcastic and willing to please no matter what the cost. I see a best friend that I've never had before in all my seventeen years of living, and that's saying something amazing since I've only known you a month or so. And with all that being said it feels amazing knowing it all. Knowing you, and your personality quirks and knowing that you're my best friend. And boyfriend now, for our private purposes. And I remember that night after Lady and the Tramp, when I said I loved you and I didn't care what anyone else thought. Well..." he took a deep breath, and Kurt's heart hammered hard in his chest as he struggled for proper inhalation. "I still love you like that, as a friend. But I think, knowing how I feel every time I kiss you, or talk to you, or even see you... I remember you asking me what love is. And now I know. I can't explain it but I think I might be... I think I'm in love with you. I love you."

Kurt's heart stopped in its tracks, breathless, and speechless.

"And I'm not sure how this works but if you love me too," Blaine said, breaking eyecontact with Kurt to fish in his cardigan pocket, "I would be honored if you would wear my pin."

Kurt's mouth dropped open, mind blank and heart still awol.

"In a place where no one would see it, obviously, at school, but when we're alone, maybe. Just for it to be there, even if it can't hold it's intended meaning of showing you're taken, just to symbolize the step in our... relationship-type-situation-"

"Yes!" Kurt finally found his voice albeit a squeaky and breathless voice. "Yes, oh yes, Blaine, I love you and I'd love to wear your pin!" He squealed and threw his arms around Blaine's neck because he never imagined he'd be almost going steady with someone he liked- no, someone he _loved, _who loved him back!

"Put it on," he instructed, leaning back and gesturing to the pocket on his shirt. Blaine grinned wildly and fastened the precious little thing onto the fabric, right over Kurt's heart.

After he was finished Blaine moved to claim back his hand but Kurt stopped him, laying his own hand over Blaine's so he was sure his boyfriend could hear how hard his heart was beating right then.

"I love you," he said shyly.

"I love you too," Blaine grinned and leaned in for a kiss.

And it was even more different this time because it wasn't just between two best friends who liked kissing a lot. It was between two boys who loved each other, who were almost going steady, who knew what they felt was right between them and were comfortable with doing what they needed to do to be together under less-than-ideal complications. They kissed under the safe cover shielding them from the looming eyes of the outside world, for one moment not caring what anyone thought because, well, it didn't really matter.

They were in love.

* * *

><p>To be honest, Kurt had been so engrossed in his textbook the next day in Algebra, chewing thoughtfully on his writing implement that he didn't notice Blaine fidgeting in his seat beside him until he glanced back to look at the clock.<p>

Blaine looked like proverbial cat, stilling immediately under Kurt's gaze.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Kurt laughed under his breath so that the airhead substitute for their math class wouldn't notice. He felt almost dizzy with giddiness when he realized the motion of laughing allowed him to feel the back of Blaine's pin against his chest where it was safely hidden under his leather jacket.

Blaine bit his lip and tore out a bit of his notebook paper, stealing a pen from Jacob Israel to scribble a note. Kurt rolled his eyes, shaking his head. Were they suddenly in second grade again?

_'I've been watching you bite your pen all period and I want to kiss you so badly.'_

Well that was unexpected. Kurt blushed and glanced around irrationally, covering the note with his hands. He saw Blaine shake with silent laughter out of the corner of his eye.

_'Blaine. You can't just write things like that for people to potentially oversee.  
>P.S. Only lunch and periods five and six until we're alone at my house...'<em>

He punctuated his note with a smiley face and tossed it back over to Blaine haughtily. The reply was back almost instantaneously.

'_I can't wait. Literally. Follow my lead.'_

Kurt snapped his head over to Blaine in alarm, but Blaine just uncrossed his legs pointedly, directing Kurt's attention to-

"Miss Holiday? May I be excused to the restroom?" Blaine rose his hand, addressing the substitute as Kurt flushed a very, very deep red.

"Sure thing, kid," the loose-moraled sub answered before returning to her half-assed Algebra lecture.

Kurt's heart leaped wildly as Blaine shot him a dark smile before crumpling another piece of paper deliberately onto the floor and sauntering out of the door.

Once the obliviously bored members of class had turned their attention back to Miss Holiday, Kurt surreptitiously picked up the paper and uncrumpled it.

'_Under the bleachers in five.'_

This was stupid, Kurt decided. He had been partaking in quite a lot of stupidity lately, actually. Almost kissing in front of everyone at Dellie's? Making out with his boyfriend under only a partially-enclosed car at the public drive-in? But this was the _epitome_ of stupid, giving in to stupid teenage hormones that were telling him to stupidly ditch math class to go do stupid things with another stupidly-influenced-by-hormones-boy-

"Ma'am?" Kurt's voice interrupted his frenzied train of thought five minutes later. "I feel ill. May I visit the nurse's office?"

"Have fun," shrugged Miss Holiday, tossing him a hall pass.

Kurt's legs took him as fast as they could go, crumpling the pass into his pocket as he walked through the abandoned halls and out the back doors of the school, down the large staircase, through the lunch quad, and towards the bleachers. His mind was numb, not able to think about anything besides how Blaine was about to jump his bones, right about _now._

And, as promised, there was Blaine, staring off into space under the bleachers. Kurt's heart picked up ten paces as they locked eyes, and Kurt tilted his chin up and slowly strutted over, savoring Blaine's hungry eyes roaming all over.

"Been thinking about this all day," Blaine mumbled inaudibly once Kurt was within hearing distance.

Kurt smiled darkly, letting instincts take over.

"Tell me about it, stud."

And then he fisted his hands in Blaine's leather jacket to roughly jam their bodies together and kissed him dirty; no pretenses, just tongue.

"Oh," Blaine's exclamation was swallowed by Kurt's open mouth. "Oh. Oh, wow," he muttered incoherently, clutching Kurt so tightly that they swayed a bit.

Kurt took advantage of their inbalance to press Blaine against the inside of the bleachers, sliding his hands from Blaine's jacket down to his hips.

Blaine draped his arms lazily around Kurt's neck, allowing him to practically attack his face. "Mmm yes," he muttered as Kurt mouthed at his neck. "I love being your best friend."

"I love you," Kurt mumbled, finding his way up into Blaine's shirt.

"Yeah, that too." Blaine sighed. Kurt licked hard around his lips, leaving Blaine keening impatiently. "Please Kurt," he whined, searching for purchase against his lips with no avail.

Kurt complained, mouth open against Blaine's, "But the sounds you make are nice," he breathed, nudging his hips against Blaine's just slightly.

Blaine let out the most glorious broken little whimper.

"That's my favorite," Kurt smiled, nosing at Blaine's jaw.

"God dammit, Kurt," he hissed s Kurt pitches his hips against Blaine's again. "Kiss me right now otherwise I'll melt into a big puddle of nothing."

"My attentions are directed elsewhere," Kurt moaned, assigning a rhythm to their hips. Neither of them noticed students filtering into the lunch quad a few dozen yards away.

"Oh God oh God oh God oh God," Blaine moaned in panic. "Kurt, what if someone sees?"

"Don't care," Kurt gasped, handling Blaine's waist to his liking.

"Our pants," Blaine groaned, thought he was beginning to give as good as he was getting. "I don't have any extra and I really don't want to have to explain why my pants are all wet and-"

Kurt kissed him finally, just to shut him up because they were currently building up to something seriously amazing and he didn't care _where_ he was because he needed to get there asap.

Blaine arched into Kurt fully then, forcing his tongue down Kurt's throat. Kurt took it gladly, sucking Blaine's tongue hard into his mouth causing Blaine's eyes to momentarily pop wide open.

A flash of bewildered eyes, an ephemeral rush of smooth black-leather shine and a close-shaved head.

"Kurt," Blaine immediately froze, arousal dissipating into thin air itself.

"So close, why'd you stop?" Kurt slurred, pulling away and glaring at Blaine with lust-blown eyes.

"Someone saw us. Just now, they- he- oh boy-" Blaine collapsed against the inside of the bleachers in shock.

He saw Kurt's pupils physically contract in panic. "What? Who?"

Blaine swallowed, squeezing his eyes shut, not wanting to believe his own eyes. "I'm pretty sure it was... shit, Kurt why... he... of all the people..."

"No, oh no," Kurt squeaked.

"Puck," they breathed.


	10. Dream a Little Dream of Me

_Angst. That is all. I know it's scrambled, but think of it in a 500 Days of Summer approach haha. I'm also considering doing a companion chapter from Blaine's point of view where everything is in order. Still debating though. Also, The story's coming to an end soon; only two or three more chapters to go. It's been amazing, but I have so many other plotlines running through my head that I need to move on! As always, enjoy and review!_

* * *

><p>Kurt was so wrong. So, so, horrendously, terribly, depressingly, pathetically wrong. He had never been wronger in his life.<p>

He had been safe. He had known the difference between reality and fantasy, and it had been a dull life but at least it was a neutral feeling. Better to be bored, numb, than... well. Than _this._

It was when he started blending the lines that it all went wrong. Where the false sense of security came from, the butterflies and happiness and pure _bliss_, was beyond Kurt. Where the sense of right in the world came from when everything he knew and built up for himself had been crumbling down before his very eyes was incomprehensible.

He should have known better. But oh, how he knew now:

Life wasn't a Disney movie.

* * *

><p>Kurt's mind had appeared to switch into a self-defensive mode of obliviousness. But it came back in patches. Flashes of memories immediately shut out for overwhelming emotions too complex to even attempt to filter through.<p>

* * *

><p><em><strong>Four Weeks Ago. <strong>_

The best course of action Kurt and Blaine could think to take was to pretend nothing had happened. For all they knew, Blaine had imagined Puck's presence in his head; for all the times they overanalyzed the moment it definitely felt that way.

So after the weekend was over Kurt and Blaine drove up to the school as usual, sliding on their jackets and sunglasses and stepping out of their car and into the fray.

Kurt was having a very odd sense of da ja vu.

It was true that the one time they had received attention walking through the halls of McKinley High was the first day of school. After that they had just been two guys who got occasional high fives and pats on the back like everyone else.

But that was a month ago, and they were getting attention now, though admittedly different.

Gone were the flirtatious smiles of ladies and gaping mouths of awe from the gentlemen. Not only were they gone, they were consciously concealed. In fact, if Kurt didn't know any better, this wouldn't have been much of a change at all because no one looked at them anymore since that one day, and they certainly weren't looking today.

But Kurt _did _know better. And it wasn't that they weren't looking. They were physically avoiding eye contact.

Now that Kurt really thought about it, there was a clear bubble of empty space around the two of them as they walked through the halls.

"Kurt?" Blaine hissed. "Is it just me, or are people avoiding us?"

Kurt's reply was lost though, because the next thing he knew he was being flung against a row of lockers.

* * *

><p>The other thing about the flashbacks was that they often appeared out of order. Like his brain was willing to process only one scene at a time but not the whole picture.<p>

* * *

><p><em><strong>One Week After That.<strong>_

Kurt sat alone at his kitchen table a few days later; how many days he didn't particularly know or care.

Eventually he realized his dad was sitting across from him.

"Hi Dad," he said automatically, eyes trained on the obnoxiously gingham tablecloth.

"Kurt," Burt said softly.

Kurt said nothing.

"I've been hearing things, Kurt. And I don't like what I'm hearing but what I don't like more is that I didn't hear it from you first."

Silence.

"I know we don't talk a lot, kid, but we're always honest with each other. And I want you to be honest with me, and no matter what you say I'll respect you for being honest."

Kurt's eyes were drying out, so he blinked.

"So tell me, Kurt. I won't believe any of these sick things I'm hearing until I hear it from you."

_Sick_. The word would have stung Kurt but somehow it was lost in the red and white gingham tablecloth.

"It doesn't change who I am, contrary to popular belief," Kurt finally monotoned. "But since popular belief seems to be the only thing that matters anymore, yes. It's true."

"What's true?" Burt asked gently.

That was when Kurt crumbled inside, though his practiced stoic exterior didn't flinch an inch. "Don't make me say it, dad. Please."

"I need to hear it Kurt," and the desperation in his father's voice startled Kurt's heart into a fast and mournful beating.

"No," his voice cracked, eyes dry.

"Please, Kurt, for once in your life be straight with me-"

"Well sorry to disappoint you, dad," Kurt's voice projected, provoked by nothing in particular, "But straight is something I'll never be able to be for you."

Burt's voice cracked. "Kurt-"

"I'm a homosexual," Kurt choked out, feeling disgusting.

The silence lasted for minutes. Hours. Days. Again, it didn't particularly matter.

Eventually Kurt realized his dad wasn't at the table anymore.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Present Day. <strong>_

Two weeks after that, Kurt realized he had lost everything.

"_Who's that?"_  
>"<em>It's that Hummel guy."<em>  
>"<em>Oh, really? He looks so different. Did you hear about-"<em>  
>"<em>Yeah. I heard. I wouldn't go near that guy with a ten-foot pole."<em>  
>"<em>So you think it's true?"<em>  
>"<em>Without a doubt."<em>

Everyone knew now. News traveled fast in Lima, and not a sympathetic eye was bestowed upon him. If there was anything Lima despised, it was "different". And that was exactly what Kurt was, what he had made himself. Not like he allowed eyes upon him anyway; he spent all his time either holed up in his room or isolated at school. Everyone was silent at the dinner table at home, Finn avoiding all eye contact as he scarfed down food before he bolted back up to his room, Burt constantly trying to catch his son's eye with no avail because Kurt couldn't bear to let the disappointment undoubtedly there sink into his self, Carole sadly chewing on her home-cooked meals.

The precise moment he realized he had lost everything was under a lonely tree just outside the lunch quad, ignoring curious looks and dirty glares. A month ago he had his image, safe to hide behind. He had a best friend, and boyfriend, who adored him blindly just as Kurt did him. He had a circle of friends to protect his image. He had a glee club, which just wasn't the same with only a Rachel, Artie, and a very uncomfortable Mr. Schue. He had his dad, who was trying his best to support him no matter what. God, he even had a brother who was fiercely loyal to him, despite being a little weird. And now he was alone, watching Blaine laugh and play it cool with his so-called friends, leather jacket and all. Kurt remembered a time when he looked like that, like a hot shot and everyone thinking he was one of the coolest guys in school.

It was only a week ago, but it seemed like years. Centuries. Eons.

Look at him now. Not even bothering to coiff his hair into careful disarray with mounds of hairspray, leather jacket abandoned at home in favor of a lavender bowtie that he hadn't had the heart to give back to Blaine. Not like it would have been possible, anyway, considering that he and Blaine didn't speak anymore.

It wasn't something they had decided to do, stopping all contact. It just sort of happened. The boys took Blaine in, shut Kurt out, and that was that. Nothing was done about it. And Kurt could have wasted his time feeling sad about it but what was the point? He deserved it, for thinking that he could somehow twist reality to make it fit his fantasy world.

Now that it was all out in the open, spread by word of mouth, Blaine didn't seem to even want to look at him anymore.

Except right then, a month from the incident. Without warning, Blaine was turning his head, looking straight at Kurt.

And that was when Kurt snapped.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Four Weeks Ago. Continued.<strong>_

Kurt's reply was lost as he was slammed against a row of lockers.

"I always knew there was something funny with you," Puck was snarling in Kurt's face.

"Puck," Blaine rushed over. "Hey man, knock it off-"

"No, it's okay," Puck assured Blaine, patting his shoulder gingerly as if he were injured. Blaine's eyebrows knitted with concern and confusion.

Puck turned back to Kurt's bewildered eyes just as the rest of the boys filtered in, Sam and Mike flanking Puck while Finn lingered back with Blaine, watching. Puck fisted the scruff of Kurt's collar. "It's one thing to be sick, but it's a whole 'nother thing to go spreading it around to innocent people."

_Sick._ The word sunk into Kurt's skin, poisoning the blood that pumped fast through his heart.

Puck released him with another shove, making a disgusted noise. "Eugh. Get some therapy or something before you start an epidemic." He wiped his hands on his jeans before leading the rest of the group away, Blaine in tow.

"Come on buddy," he said to Blaine, "You're with us now. We'll get you fixed up in no time."

Kurt shot a last desperate look at his best friend.

"Blaine?" he whimpered, voice inaudible.

"I-" Blaine's face was agonized before Mike tugged him sharply away with a dirty glance at Kurt, patting Blaine's shoulder bracingly.

Kurt slid to the floor in the emptying hallway.

So Puck knew. He had seen, and told the boys who had told the girls who had told, judging by the lack of eye-contact, pretty much everyone. But Puck hadn't just seen exactly what happened, oh no. He had to put his own spin on it. It wouldn't been too much for his narrow mindset to consider _two_ of his friends were... different, so he saw only one. One friend with a... sickness, who had gotten the other sick. _Sick;_ that's what Kurt was, and Puck had made excuses for his favorite, the naturally cool new kid, of the two at the expense of the weirdo who Finn had brought into the group out of the blue. So much for the "any friend of the group's is a friend of ours." He, as Finn's friend and _brother_, was being shunned while _Kurt's_ friend was taking over he, himself. So much for the fiercely loyal mentality because apparently when a friend was sick the first through was not to help him, but to save everyone else from going down with him.

So Puck had seen, and convinced everyone in the school over the course of a weekend that Kurt was contagious with the same-sex-orientation disease and was willingly spreading it around.

But that wasn't even the worst part.

What was the worst was that Blaine hadn't tried to do anything about it.

Reassure Puck and the boys that Blaine himself was sick, too? Defend his best friend? No. Obviously his reputation was more important to him than Kurt, the one who gave it to him. Once it was in the open it was all so very real, and without that sense of fantasy the thrill was gone. All that was left was that he and Kurt were sick by rules of society, and once given the option to not be seen as sick he took it. Took it and left Kurt under the bus, a small price to pay for societal acceptance.

Sitting there in the empty hallway, the cool back of Blaine's pin burning into his fiery skin, Kurt had never felt so alone.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Present Day. Continued. <strong>_

Reality. Cruel, harsh reality. How wrong Kurt was to think that his and Blaine's feelings were reality. To think that love and kisses and pins were anything but a naïve fantasy based on fickle summer wind let over from the August haze.

Well now Kurt knew what reality was.

And he needed everyone else to know, too.

Without warning, Blaine was turning his head, looking straight at Kurt. What Kurt saw there was unmistakable:

Pity.

And that was when Kurt snapped.

His legs were raising him up, carrying him across the quad, weaving through tables and stares and jumps out of the way of passersby avoiding touching him at all costs for fear of catching the near-fatal disease. He finally reached the table he once used to occupy at lunch, where the Pink Ladies and his old friends were chatting.

But he didn't stop there. He stepped up on the bench beside Blaine and up onto the tabletop, head held high.

"What the hell, man?" Sam glared up at him.

"Get off our table, pervert," Mike grumbled.

"Kurt," came a soft voice, and Kurt recognized it as the first word Finn had spoken to him in weeks before he stuck his fingers in his mouth and whistled, loud.

The din dimmed just loud enough for Kurt to capture attention.

"Dear McKinley," Kurt hollered, just a tad hysterical. "You know I can _see_ you staring at me like some dead thing on the road? I can _hear_ the stories, the falsehoods you tell about me? I think I even heard one about me growing fangs and infecting an entire city. Well guess what. No matter how ridiculous the stories are I don't give a damn."

"Kurt," the voice was Blaine's this time, but Kurt was too far gone.

"You know what else, McKinley? I'll take it. I'll take your stares and stories because I deserve it. It's what I get for believing I could find happiness in my sorry life, that I could go with a boy and get away with it, that I could wear his pin and think it meant something."

He tore off the offending pin residing sadly on his bowtie and flung it who knows where.

"Yeah. I'm a homosexual. Yeah, I'm sick. Maybe it's contagious. Maybe it's not. But I'm proud of it because it's me. It's who I am and no one can change it. I've lost my friends, I've lost my dad, I've lost my brother, I've lost my passion and I've lost my dignity but no matter how hard you try to bring me down, I will never lose myself."

It was around then that, out of boredom, various food items started flying at him as students returned to their conversations. Struggling to maintain any dignity he had left, he managed to catch an apple, take a bite out of it, and throw it back in the direction from which it came before he hopped off the table and positively sashayed up the large set of stairs just as the bell signaling the end of lunch rang.

* * *

><p><strong><em>One Month Later.<em>**

Kurt pretty much got his wish.

Once the stories became old news, no one stared anymore. No one even avoided him anymore. It was pretty much like he didn't exist. After a while, Kurt had convinced himself that people could walk through him and he wouldn't be surprised.

Every day he walked through the halls of McKinley, not even bothering to observe his surroundings anymore. He didn't know if his teachers had caught wind of the fiasco. Either way they just stopped calling on him in class after they realized he wasn't about to give anything more than monosyllabic answers. It didn't matter anyway, he got flawless grades in this school for hick-town dummies. He sat under his tree at lunch, eating if he felt like it and not eating if he didn't. If by any chance he passed by Blaine in the hallway he treated him like everyone else treated Kurt, like cellophane. See through and maybe even nonexistent.

The only circumstances under which Kurt was not ignored was when he was pushed into lockers.

Every now and then his walking around with no particular aim in mind somehow angered the occasional passerby, including Puck, jocks led by the quarterback Dave Karofsky, and even random boys who appeared to have nothing better to do.

Even the bullying wasn't so bad, because most people were afraid to even touch him, let alone look him in the eye to insult him for fear of catching the so-called sickness.

Kurt often found it funny to compare his condition to a high-school version of the second-grade cooties.

Beneath the numb rut of his new life, he felt isolated. Betrayed. Lifeless. Inhuman. And a lot of other bottled up emotions that he had no way of expressing.

He hadn't talked to anyone in about a month, not since he made that speech in the lunch quad. He wasn't even sure if he could even talk anymore.

Well, he was about to put that to the test.

"Mr. Schue," he said, finding his voice was still as crystal clear as ever. The teacher, startled at the sound of a so-long silent voice, turned to Kurt in surprise.

"Yes, Kurt?" he said slowly, with tired eyes.

Kurt glanced briefly around the choir room, empty save for Rachel in one seat on the risers. Artie had long since quit, unable to bear Rachel's fussing and demand for solos despite the fact that she was the only acting member of the club. Rachel shot him a look that was almost sympathetic before resuming her stony stare off into space.

"I was wondering if I may use the auditorium to practice instead of attending glee club today."

Mr. Schuester looked reluctant to be left alone in a room with Rachel, but nodded sympathetically and even patted him on the shoulder briefly. Kurt jumped under the unexpected friendly gesture, and Mr. Schue quickly retreated his hand. He opened his mouth, looking ready to say something profound, but only exhaled in despair. "Sure Kurt," he said sadly.

Kurt nodded and exited the room to make his way through the empty halls to the auditorium.

Once onstage facing the empty space of the auditorium, Kurt let out a sad little cry of an exhale. Being here, where he belonged, cleared away enough of the defensive haze his brain set up to allow him to see just how many emotions had managed to get clogged in his veins.

He closed his eyes with a shuddering breath, hearing instruments burst into life in his head, almost as loud and vivid as real life. He sang out the words, sang for no one but himself to hear, singing in place of speaking the words he could never say to anyone, not even himself.

_All that work and what did it get me?  
>Why did I do it?<br>Scrapbooks filled with me in the background  
>Give 'em love and what does it get ya?<br>What does it get ya?  
>One quick look as each of 'em leaves you<em>

Tears pricked at Kurt's eyes, and he willed them to stay put for fear of his voice wavering. He needed the words out, and he needed them out clear and strong.

_All your life and what does it get ya?  
>Thanks a lot and out with the garbage<br>They take bows and you're batting zero_

Through closed eyes he felt white hot lights illuminating him from behind, his name in big shiny letters, felt the piercing gazes of one-thousand audience-members watching him, hanging on his every note, his every word.

_I had a dream  
>I dreamed it for you, Dad<br>It wasn't for me, Finn  
>And if it wasn't for me<br>Then where would you be, Blaine Anderson?_

Kurt's eyes flew open, fantasy fading and the lonesome reality closing in on him. He flung away from it, rage climbing through his gut to his chest and out of his throat, desperate to cut through it with his words.

_Well, someone tell me, when is it my turn?  
>Don't I get a dream for myself?<br>Starting now it's gonna be my turn  
>Gangway world, get off of my runway!<br>Starting now I bat a thousand  
>This time boys, I'm taking the bows and...<em>

It flew from his lungs, unrestrained by neither reality or fantasy.

_Everything's coming up Kurt!  
>Everything's coming up Hummel!<br>Everything's coming up Kurt  
>This time for me!<em>

Hysterical and triumphant laughs bubbled up from his diaphragm, giddy with release as he danced freely about the stage.

_For me!  
>For me!<br>For me!  
>For... me!<em>

He collapsed to his knees, half-panting and half-sobbing and half-laughing, running his hands through his sweat damp hair.

It was all out in the open... finally.

"That's some singing, kid."

Kurt's head jerked up at the sound of his father's voice. The bright stage lights faded from his mind and his eyes focused out into the empty audience; empty save for one seat in the front back which his father was now leaving to walk down the aisle to the stage.

Wondering what would be the best thing to say in a situation like this, a situation consisting of his father mysteriously appearing in his school auditorium in the middle of the day to watch him sing after not speaking to him for several weeks, settling on nothing of real importance: "That's Rose's Turn," he said breathlessly, smoothing his bangs back with a practiced thumb.

"I could get in to that. Maybe," his dad smiled tightly, walking up the stairs to the stage and stopping five feet away from Kurt.

"What are you doing here?" Kurt asked in a low voice, pretenses gone.

"Your glee club teacher called me in. Said he was worried about you. And frankly, I am too."

Kurt's resentment was too poignant to put into words.

"But instead of talking to me he told me as soon as I got here to go to the auditorium. That there was something I needed to see."

"Well you've seen it," Kurt said coldly, crossing his arms across his chest "You've done your part, you're off the hook. So I'll just see you at home, I guess."

But Burt didn't move. "I'm worried about you," he repeated.

"Yeah," Kurt lashed out angrily. "Yeah I know. I would be too if I found out my only son had a mental illness. And I would definitely sit around for months watching him fall deeper and deeper into solitude. I would definitely keep my distance when all he needed was a father, or a friend, or help or even someone to talk to," he lashed out, sarcasm dripping from his voice before he turned to leave. "I'm sorry to have disappointed you."

"Kurt, don't do that, I'm trying to be straight with you here," Burt commanded, and Kurt flung himself around, tears burning in his eyes, hands clenching into fists.

"Good to know you're finally coming 'round, after weeks of knowing your son's been sick-"

"Stop that," Burt shouted, and Kurt's wall of fury crumbled when his father's voice cracked. "Stop talking about your- yourself like you're damaged goods or something." His father rested his forehead in his hand.

"Isn't that what I am?" Kurt's voice trembled, wrapping his arms around himself.

"I don't believe a word of that bullshit," his father's voice was strong again. "You are the smartest, bravest, most talented kid I've ever seen, and if that makes you sick then the world is more upside down than I thought it was. You've been like this since you were two, I always knew you were different but I never thought..." he shook his head. "But never mind that, you can't just catch a life-long 'sickness.' You're not sick, Kurt. It's who you are. And if it's a part of who you are..." Burt took in a shaky breath and made a step towards Kurt, whose eyes began to spill over. "Then I'm going to try my damned hardest to love you for it. Because I love you, Kurt."

And then warm, safe arms were encircling Kurt and he was collapsing into them. "I love you too, dad," he choked.

"We're both going to have to work at this, to make this happen," Burt said, pulling Kurt closer.

"It'll be hard," Kurt whispered.

"I know, kid," Burt sighed, gazing up to the heavens for strength. "I know."

* * *

><p><em><strong>A few hours later.<strong>_

Kurt returned to his room after dinner with his dad at Joe's Diner, a little weight lifted off his shoulders. They had caught each other up about the last few weeks with, to Kurt's relief, few awkward moments. With his dad on his side, even a small bit, was advantageous and even a little relieving, enough to lighten his burden immensely though somehow not even enough.

For the first time in a long while, Kurt placed a record upon the turntable and allowed the music to softly fill the room. He stepped to the window and opened it to the crisp autumn air, breathing in refreshing lungfuls. It was a while before he realized that, for the first time in weeks, e was singing just for the sake of singing, expressing nothing in particular but just enjoying the feel of melodic notes slipping off his tongue.

_Stars shining bright above you  
>Night breezes seem to whisper "I love you"<br>Birds singing in the sycamore tree  
>Dream a little dream of me<em>

Maybe it wasn't all that bad. He could still have what he wanted most; a career on Broadway. That feeling he got onstage was incomparable to almost any kind of pleasure, a sort of thrill that was immeasurable. He could only think of one other thing that made him feel the same way, feel that aching need desperate to clamber out of his chest, and that was...

Well. He didn't need _that_ to be happy.

He would convince himself of it.

Eventually.

_Say nighty-night and kiss me  
>Just hold me tight and tell me you'll miss me<br>While I'm alone and blue as can be  
>Dream a little dream of me<em>

Maybe if Kurt's luck returned, Blaine would come back to him, in one way or another. And if not, maybe Blaine would always remember him; never try to shut Kurt's memory out, always think of him fondly. And maybe, if Kurt was a little lucky, Blaine would dream of him, just as he dreamed of Blaine and they would be in each other's hearts, if not in each other's lives, forever.

_Stars fading but I linger on dear_  
><em>Still craving your kiss<em>  
><em>I'm longin' to linger till dawn dear<em>  
><em>Just saying this<em>

Maybe it was lack of sleep. Or maybe he had finally cracked under the pressure, or maybe it was just the sheer thought of Blaine but whatever it was he could still hear Blaine's voice weaving with his own, echoing in the quiet night.

_Sweet dreams till sunbeams find you  
>Sweet dreams that leave all worries behind you<br>But in your dreams whatever they be  
>Dream a little dream of me<em>

He closed his eyes, breathing in the instrumental break. But softly, just barely there, he heard whistling along to the tune. His eyes flew open in surprise, scanning his room over his shoulder and after finding nothing but himself, he took to learning out the window.

It couldn't be. Kurt's eyes were playing tricks on him, his broken heart was making him see things.

But if there was any doubt, it was gone when Blaine sang, walking up the driveway with a duller version of sparkle in his eyes.

_Stars shining up above you  
>Night breezes seem to whisper "i love you"<br>Birds singin' in the sycamore tree  
>Dream a little dream of me<em>

By force of habit, all thoughts fleeing his head, Kurt joined in, innately craving the sound of their mingling voices.

_Sweet dreams till sunbeams find you  
>Sweet dreams that leave all worries behind you<br>But in your dreams whatever they be  
>Dream a little dream of me<em>

Yes, dream a little dream of me.

It was only after Blaine stepped into the light pouring from the window that Kurt realized his face was bruised.

* * *

><p><em><strong>A few minutes later.<strong>_

"I didn't know where else to go," Blaine said, voice fading, probably due to the cut steadily dripping blood on his temple. "I'm sorry, I should've called, or something, but after- I couldn't-"

"Shut up," Kurt advised, patting his head with a damp washcloth.

"Kurt, I thought I told you no guests after nine-thirty," Burt said as he walked into the kitchen, but stopped dead in his tracks when he saw Blaine in the state he was in, bruised face and rumpled clothes, leaning against the sink as Kurt fixed him up. "Blaine? What happened to you, kid?" Burt asked, hurrying around the table to stand by Kurt's side, surveying the damage.

"Don't bother," Kurt said grimly, dabbing aloe vera on Blaine's face. "I've been asking for the last ten minutes but he won't say. He _will_ say sorry, though, it seems to be all he _can _say."

"Sorry sir," Blaine said on cue, eyes trained upon Mr. Hummel.

"Alright, enough of that," Burt said to Kurt, shoving his hands away gently and pulling Blaine to the table, leading him into a chair. Blaine winced as he sat in it.

"Are you in trouble? You need a place to stay, son?" Burt asked him seriously, sitting across from him. Kurt washed off his hands and took the seat at the head of the table in between them.

"Yes, sir," Blaine said softly, eyes closing.

"Do your folks know you're here?"

Blaine shuddered, and it sent an odd shiver down Kurt's spine. "No."

"Well I'd be happy to provide my home for you but I can't unless your parents-"

"My parents..." Blaine interrupted, voice wavering. "Don't want me. Anymore."

Silence rang through the entire house.

"Burt, honey?" Carole called from the living room, heading into the kitchen. "Are you coming to bed? Oh," she gasped when Blaine turned to acknowledge her presence. "Blaine, honey, what happened?"

"Shh," Burt shushed his wife, pulling her into the chair next to him. "We were just getting to that. Blaine," he lay a hand on Blaine's arm. "Why don't your parents want you anymore?"

But Blaine seemed to have other things on his mind. "It was too much," he recited robotically, eyes trained down on the table, speaking more to himself than to anybody else. "It felt horrible, and it was all building up inside and I had no one to talk to, even rallied by my friends-" he gave a sarcastic bark of a laugh that made the table jump. "Yeah, they weren't much help. They all thought that I was... well, it got to be too much and so I cracked, I told my parents. I told them the truth."

"Told them what, sweetie?" Carole urged, exchanging a bewildered glance with Burt.

But Kurt knew exactly what.

Blaine broke his gaze on the table to look up to Kurt for support. Or clearance, or permission, and somehow Kurt knew what he was asking for. He nodded. _Yes,_ he thought, hoping Blaine was still able to read his mind as always. _It's okay here, no one's going to hurt you for it. _

Blaine turned back to Kurt's parents. "Told them that... I'm... I..."

It seemed funny that, after two months, Blaine was the one who couldn't say it when Kurt expressed it freely. Funny how tables could turn like that.

Blaine still seemed at a loss for words, so Kurt offered assistance. "A little light in the loafers, or so to speak."

Blaine glanced at Kurt briefly before turning his attention back to Blaine. "So you're one too?"

"Too?" Blaine frowned.

"I told him two months ago," Kurt said softly.

"What happened when you told them?" Burt asked.

"They didn't take it very well. My mom got all quiet and my dad, he... I think he thought he could... beat it out of me and so... hence the-" he gestured at his face.

"Oh God," Carole brought a hand to her mouth.

"And after a while, after I stopped fighting back he just sort of... stopped. He told me to get out, and to come back when I had my head screwed on straight again and I think he started crying but I wasn't sure because I ran for the door and the next thing I knew I was here."

"I'll have a chat with Mr. Anderson," Burt said fiercely, in low tones.

"And I'll have a chat with the police," Carole whispered, rising to retrieve the phone.

"And until then-" Burt started.

"You stay with us," Kurt finished for him, and Burt nodded at his son to confirm. "You can stay on the couch in my room. Come on," he said, tugging gently on Blaine's arm to make him rise.

"Get him comfortable, son," Burt instructed, going to stand beside Carole at the phone.

"Yes sir," Kurt reassured him, and grasped Blaine's arm protectively to lead him into the living room and to the stairs.

But before they could climb the staircase Blaine was falling into Kurt's arms.

"Thank you," he whispered brokenly. "And I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry. I love you."

"Love you too," Kurt murmured, cursing his heart for warming so quickly when he was supposed to be angry with the boy. "Now come on, we'll talk about it in the morning. Let's get you to bed."

Finn's door opened once they were on the landing.

"What's going on?" he asked, bleary from sleep. His eyes widened as Kurt and Blaine passed. "Oh, man, Blaine, what-"

"Go back to sleep," Kurt muttered, the first words he had said to his brother in two months, and shoved him back into his room.

Once he had gotten Blaine safely into the shower (with the door open so he could hear if he fell due to the most probable concussion he had), he retrieved extra sheets from the cupboard in the hall and proceeded to dress the couch to convert it into a working bed. Blaine emerged from the bathroom just as he was fluffing up the pillows, dressed in a pair of Kurt's old pajamas and immediately collapsed onto the makeshift bed. Kurt threw the sheets and an extra blanket over him, smiling a little sadly, and turned off the lamp by his bedside before stealing away into the bathroom to complete his nighttime moisturizing routine.

It was a good thirty minutes before he finally crawled into bed, and though he was exhausted he couldn't seem to stop peering at the rise and fall of Blaine's body on the couch.

"Sweet dreams," he couldn't help but murmur.

"'Til sunbeams find you," Blaine sighed back, and Kurt smiled to himself as he fell away into sleep.


	11. Dream a Little Dream of Me, Redux

_I couldn't bear to see everyone hating Blaine. But you wouldn't believe me if I told it myself, or through Kurt, so you need to hear it from him. Keep in mind: before you continue to hate the poor boy, remember that he isn't very good at romance. Enjoy the last of the angst and review!_

* * *

><p>Blaine was so guilty. So, so, horrendously, terribly, pathetically guilty. He had never been more anguished in his life.<p>

He had been in love. He had known how to be happy for the rest of his life, and it had been a little naïve maybe but at least it was _right, _the rightest thing he'd ever known. Better to be naïve than... well. Than _this._

Truthfully, it was when he met Kurt that it all went wrong. Where the outlandish idea that falling in love with, let alone acting upon feelings for a boy was okay was beyond Blaine. Where the notion of making out under the bleachers with your socially-unacceptable boyfriend came from was incomprehensible.

He should have known better. But oh, how he knew now:

This guilt was going to kill him from the inside out.

* * *

><p>If Blaine had felt weirded out under all of the curious stares bestowed upon him on the first day of school, it was nothing compared to <em>this<em> kind of attention. Or the lack thereof. There had to be an at least two-foot radius around he and Kurt as they made their way through the halls of McKinley.

"Kurt?" he hissed. "Is it just me or are people avoiding us?"

He watched Kurt's mouth open to speak, and his chestnut hair gleaming with hairspray and his pale skin glowing angelically under fluorescent light and hips swaying as he walked-

But holy shit, none of that was important because all of those beautiful things were being shoved up against a row of lockers by Puck, who looked about ready to go off his knocker. Kurt's seafoam-blue eyes, wide with bewilderment, found Blaine's, snapping him out of shock.

"Hey" he lunged towards Puck, reaching to pull him away from Kurt. "Man, knock it off-"

But Puck was interrupting him, touching him as if he was wounded all over, telling him it would be okay as if he was a child whose balloon had just popped at the school fair. Out of nowhere came the rest of the gang, Sam and Mike flanking Puck and Finn sidling up beside Blaine, nervously shooting him a look. Blaine was rendered speechless and thoughtless; he was positive Puck had seen he and Kurt behind the bleachers but this reaction was incomprehensible; why was he threatening Kurt, _insulting_ him? Why wasn't it Blaine? _Blaine _had been the one who tossed Kurt the note,_ Blaine_ had been the one who gave Kurt the pin, _Blaine_ had been the one who asked Kurt out, jumped him in the backseat, convinced Kurt to join Glee club, kissed Kurt, brought his car in to Kurt's shop...

This was all Blaine's fault. And Kurt was getting blamed for it.

Unfortunately, he was discovering this too late.

"Blaine?" Kurt's voice, helpless, pleading, wrenched Blaine back to reality.

He opened his mouth to speak, but something restricted noise from coming out. One, tiny little thing, a nagging thought. The thought that maybe Kurt would be, God forbid, better off without him.

It wasn't until Blaine came around that Kurt began to question his sexuality; for all Blaine knew, without him Kurt would have taken over his dad's shop, marry some beautiful girl and have beautiful babies and he would have been perfectly happy, or at least content. Whatever he would've been without Blaine it would've been the opposite of what his face reflected now: confliction, pain, confusion, terror.

What if all Blaine was doing Kurt was wrong, and bad? He knew that Kurt loved him, and that he loved Kurt, and that they'd be worse off without each other but it would only be for a little while. After a while they would forget; they would go off to college or get jobs and meet new people, become people who society would easily accept. That would be best for both of them, but especially for Kurt. Kurt was what really mattered; Kurt's happiness.

These thoughts flew by in an instant of watching those blue eyes, and before he could choke out any of them he was being pulled away by his so-called friends, knowing he was leaving his real best friend behind.

* * *

><p>After maybe a week was when the guilt settled in.<p>

And not just guilt.

Depression. True, undeniable despondency that was brought about only from losing a part of yourself.

Because how in God's good earth could Blaine be happy, or even content in the slightest when he was watching Kurt get slowly excommunicated from the world right before his very eyes?

And what was worse was that there was nothing he could do about it. What could he do? Confess his sexuality? The rumors were already bad as it was, if people knew that Blaine was actually gay it would be harder on Kurt if they thought who they were was actually contagious. And if Kurt was getting crap for being a homosexual on his own, imagine how much he would get if they knew he was involved with _another_ one? He couldn't ditch Puck and the gang to keep Kurt company; now that people knew about Kurt they would automatically assume the worst; that Blaine was his boyfriend. And though it was true, Kurt would get more hurt because of it.

He watched the changes helplessly as they happened. First to go was Kurt's leather jacket; that happened the day after Puck cornered him at the lockers. Then gone was the slick faux-grease, in its place Kurt's favorite go-to hairstyle of coiffed pompadour. Soon the white t-shirts followed in lieu of pastel-colored oxfords, and the slouchy posture in favor of a more naturally ramrod straight position and finally, to Blaine's absolute horror, gone were the sparkle in Kurt's eyes and the small little grin of glittering wit. All that was left now, after being weathered by dirty looks and overheard whispers and isolation, was his chin held high with dignity, though anyone else but Blaine would have believed that was gone too.

It wasn't until a month had gone by that he realized that he could meet with Kurt in secret in the few spare moments the boys let Blaine out of their sight. But by then it was too late. He was sure Kurt was over him by now; or if not sufficiently angry enough to not want to see Blaine ever again.

And the thought sent Blaine, if possible, even farther into spiraling misery.

It sent him into enough misery to break his resolve of ignoring Kurt for his own good, to turn around at his spot on the bench away from his laughing peers, and catch just a glimpse of the beautiful boy sitting alone under the Oak tree.

What he didn't expect was to see Kurt's eyes, normally downcast and dull, staring straight at his, glittering with an intensity Blaine didn't realize existed anymore.

And the next thing Blaine knew, Kurt was on the table-top.

He watched on in despair as the members of the table shot dirty remarks at him, but he didn't even seem to notice. He began to shout, to literally scream at the entire student body and all Blaine wanted to do was to jump up there and scream with him; either that or pull him down into his arms, into his lap, rock him back and forth.

But he couldn't do either of those things. All he could do was allow what his heart was beating for to slip from his lips:

"Kurt," he murmured.

But Kurt didn't listen. He kept going, and Blaine didn't know it was possible but it was happening: his heart was breaking into even more fragments as Kurt ranted about losing faith in happiness, and love, and when he actually tore the pin off of his, _Blaine's_ bowtie and flung it, Blaine was sure his body couldn't go on functioning with such a damaged organ; surely the cracks in his heart were bleeding and causing internal bleeding? Surely he would drop dead right then and there, not have to watch Kurt struggle until he found a way to happiness without Blaine's distracting and hindering self?

When Kurt was gone, when the boys and the Pink Ladies were gone, and when the rest of the cafeteria was gone, Blaine scourged the floor for the lost pin, and upon finding it held it close to his heart like he knew he could never hold Kurt again; not if he wanted Kurt to be the best he could be in this world.

* * *

><p>Four weeks later, it didn't get any better.<p>

In fact, it got worse.

Blaine couldn't eat. He couldn't sleep, God he could barely even walk or talk.

The boys took it as homesickness, though he'd been here for more than four months now.

The girls took it as attractive male brooding.

The teachers took it as teenage hormones.

His parents took it as too much work at school.

Blaine took it as pure, unadulterated heartsickness in its worst form. Every thought was Kurt, every breath, every step, every dream during the sleepless night.

And so when he saw Kurt sneak away into the auditorium one day, he couldn't help but follow.

What he saw from behind the theater seats beyond broke his heart; by now he was pretty sure he didn't have one at all. He couldn't feel his pulse, couldn't feel his fingers or toes. All he could feel was a warm little ache where the beating muscle used to be; a little glow at watching Kurt throw himself around stage, a sick consolation that Blaine wasn't the only one walking around bearing this weight on his shoulders.

Kurt finished the song sobbing.

And that was when Blaine snapped.

* * *

><p>"Did you hear about that Hummel boy?" Mr. Anderson asked that night at dinner.<p>

"Oh yes, quite horrid rumors going around the Country Club," Mrs. Anderson responded sadly.

"Poor Kurt," Mr. Anderson shook his head. "I thought he had really good things going for him. And he seemed like such good company for Blaine."

Blaine didn't react to his name. After Kurt had arrived in the conversation he had checked out.

"Ah, well. Blaine, how are your college applications going?" his father asked.

Blaine didn't answer.

"_Blaine."_

Blaine snapped his head up.

"Yes, sir," he addressed his father, pushing some peas around on his plate.

"I was asking if you had finished your college applications," Mr. Anderson said with a small, disapproving frown.

"It doesn't do to daydream during dinner, sweetums," Mrs. Anderson piped up.

"Sorry ma'am," Blaine muttered.

"Well, young man?" his father chuckled at his son's spaciness. "Have you completed them yet?"

Blaine stared blankly at his father, who was smiling at his son fondly as if looking into a mirror and admiring oneself. How funny, Blaine thought, that his father seemed to think that he knew him. Knew exactly who Blaine was. It was funny because he thought he knew who Blaine was because he knew himself, and he was beyond positive Blaine was an exact copy of his own image. An unprovoked sort of resentment bubbled up at this as he realized that his father didn't know him; not in the slightest. He didn't know what Blaine wanted to for a living really, he didn't know his favorite ice-cream flavor, he didn't know his favorite color or his favorite musical or that Blaine even _liked_ musicals. Hell, he didn't even know Blaine liked _boys._

Blaine couldn't help but chuckle a little hysterically at this. Because now, for some unhinged reason, he had a wild desire for his father to know him. Who he really was.

The strange cackle didn't escape his father, whose brow tightened. "Blaine, do not laugh as if this is a joke. Your career as a lawyer rides on your acceptance to a respectable university."

"Blaine dear," his mother added, "Don't play with your food. If you're looking for something to do with it, please put it in your mouth instead of push it around the plate like that."

"Blaine," Mr. Anderson ignored his wife's comment. "Please answer me, have you finished your college-"

"Do you know my favorite color?" Blaine suddenly blurted out, voice a little pitchier than he remembered it originally being.

Mr. Anderson dropped his fork in surprise. "I- what- excuse me?"

"It's blue, actually," Blaine said matter-of-factly, putting his fork down himself. "Seafoam-blue."

"Blaine, really, please answer your father's question," Mrs. Anderson said gently, looking quite alarmed.

"How about my favorite ice-cream flavor?" Blaine asked, finding his legs skyrocketing him to his feet as he tossed his napkin on the table. "Do you know that one?"

"Son, sit down," his father commanded, rising to his feet himself.

"It's pistachio," Blaine laughed bitterly. "Yup, it's pistachio. Bet you didn't know that. Bet you thought I was a plain old Vanilla guy like you, dad, huh?"

"Blaine," his father thundered, face growing red, but Blaine was on a roll, a very crazed and irrational roll.

"No dad, this is important. It's way more important than college applications because you know what? I'm your son and you should know these things about me," he screeched, advancing a few steps and gesticulating wildly.

"Sweetie, come now, sit down," Mrs. Anderson's voice trembled.

"You know what else I like?" Blaine steamrollered on. "I like musicals. Sound of Music, to be specific. And I like baseball, and singing, and jazz, and glee club-"

"_Blaine Anderson,_" his father rose his voice, attempting to speak over his son. "You step _one more_ toe out of line-"

"AND KURT," Blaine concluded with a flourish, closing the distance between he and his fuming father. "I like Kurt. You know why?" He stabbed a finger in his father's chest for emphasis on the three words he'd been holding back all his life:

"I. Like. Boys."

And then, his father slapped him.

"DON'T SPEAK NONSENSE, BOY," he roared.

But Blaine was laughing. "I knew it. I knew you would hate it. Shows how much you thought you knew me, huh?"

Another slap. But Blaine couldn't feel anymore.

"Greg!" his mother sobbed.

'Take it back," his father shoved Blaine against the wall by the scruff of his collar.

"Never," Blaine shook his head, smiling giddily. "Never, ever again."

He saw the fist and he saw it make contact with his face but he was soaring, so, so happy and _free._

"Poor Kurt," he attempted to dodge his father's punches but failed miserably. "Poor, poor Kurt..." he trailed off, finally unable to speak for his mouth was swelling up.

Eventually everything started to fade around the edges a little, taking the sharpness out of his mother's screams and the impact of his father's hands and the hardness of the wall behind him started to slide, and he was down on the floor.

"Get out," he heard his father's voice, as if on the other side of a tunnel. "And don't come back until you get your fucking head on straight unless you want me to knock your skull back in shape for you again."

Blaine found this ironic because his head felt oddly bent _out_ of shape, but his legs were getting the message before his head was, scrambling him up and out of the dining room, into the hall and out the door into the crisp Autumn air.

And then it hit him.

The pain.

Not just on his face but everywhere, just like that day when Kurt was making his speech on the table. And in his irreparable state, Blaine couldn't fight it anymore. His self-preservation instincts wouldn't let him. He knew what would make the pain go away, and his disintegrating body was going to carry it to him.

And that's how he ended up at Kurt's doorstep.

And as soon as he heard that voice singing, light-hearted and free of hurt for whatever reason, it made his hurt go away too.

In fact, it made so much of the hurt go away that he felt he could do nothing but sing.

_Sweet dreams til sunbeams find you  
>Sweet dreams that leave all worries behind you<br>And in your dreams, whatever they be  
>Dream a little dream of me.<em>


	12. These Arms of Mine

_I'm not super proud of this. It's scattered. And hasn't been edited. And I broke my promise and used a song that was sung like a decade after this story takes place. But the song was -perfect- and I see the end in mind and thus plotlines needed to be tied up. Takes place the next day._

_On other news, muchacha10 drew some totally awesome art for this story. But if you want to follow her, make sure you do it under muchacha11 on her new blog. Links (minus the spaces):_  
><em>muchacha10 . tumblr . com  post / 6680394473 / hush - inspired - by - all - shook - up_  
><em>muchacha10 . tumblr . com  post / 6511412127 / http - www - fanfiction - net - s - 6905924 - 1 - all - shook - up_

_And lastly, thanks one and all, honestly and from my heart, for all of the kind reviews. Lord knows I don't deserve all of them but truthfully they inspire me and keep me working towards the end. So thanks, whether you're an original fan or the aforementioned art directed you here. I LOVE YOU ALL A LOT, OKAY. So as always, enjoy (or not), and review, and know that my Tumblr ask box is always open ;)_

* * *

><p>Kurt took in a deep breath, breaking down the walls of pride he once had with the intent to grovel, and threw the rock.<p>

It bounced off Mercedes' window but no response came.

Kurt glanced over his shoulder from the bed to make sure Blaine was still asleep before throwing another.

It took five more tries until Mercedes finally flung open her curtains and raised an eyebrow expectantly. She was not pleased. And she had a right to be; Kurt would've been too if _she_ had cut out contact with _him_ for two months with no explanation.

Hence the throwing rocks and intent to grovel.

Kurt winced under her icy glare and held up his carefully-prepared sign, decorated with flowers and hearts in his best cursive:

'_May I come over?'_

It seemed like a simple thing to ask, but really so much had changed lately that he just didn't know anymore. He had no idea if Mercedes had caught wind of the scandal over his sexuality. If she had, would she still want to be friends with him? Or even _see_ him? Had her mother found out? Lord forbid he should fall out of good graces with _Mrs. Jones_ for fear of not being presented with her famous Turkey leftovers at Thanksgiving... but either way she needed to hear if from him. She was his most faithful friend and quite frankly, Kurt had been the opposite of that lately.

To his utter relief, Mercedes rolled her eyes and ducked down to retrieve her pad of paper faithfully remaining at the window. Quickly she scribbled:

_'You may be graced by my presence in ten minutes.'_

Kurt smiled his saddest, most apologetic and loving smile as he showed her his perfectly drawn heart before closing the window.

"Kurt?"

He turned abruptly from the window, startled at Blaine's sudden sleepy awakening. He was slowly stretching, moaning loudly when he tried to sit up.

"Ow. Damn, my head."

Kurt scrambled over to the couch and pushed Blaine back down.

"Easy, cowboy," Kurt twisted his moth, observing the wounded boy. Some of the bruises were already beginning to fade, but the cut on his temple still looked pretty nasty. Kurt hated to see him hurt, but at the same time felt a sick sort of pleasure at seeing him suffer at least a fraction of the amount that Kurt had.

If only poor, cynical, sadistic Kurt knew the half of it.

"Kurt..." Blaine's eyes fluttered shut as Kurt's hand smoothed over his head cautiously. "We need to-"

"No," Kurt interrupted him. "Not yet. We'll take it all out, I promise," he bit his bottom lip and looked away. "Let's just get you well first, okay? Talking can wait."

Blaine chuckled softly.

"What?" Kurt frowned.

"We have a habit of putting off talking for later, is all," he sighed.

Kurt's chest clenched. He should've known Blaine wouldn't make it easy, staying mad at him ad forgetting all the history. Wouldn't make it easy to see this as just helping someone in need. How was he supposed to see Blaine as a friend (if he could even call him that anymore) when he was bringing up memories of kissing in the moonlight? It wasn't fair that Kurt should still have to feel these stupid things when Blaine was so obviously over it all. And it _was_ obvious; two months of no contact had convinced Kurt of that. So here he was, forced to get over it the best he could, fending for himself against Blaine's fond reminisces.

Well, two could play at that game.

"Well this time there's a legitimate reason for you to refrain from working your brain too hard, other than naïve hormonal frivolity," he snapped coldly, ripping the covers back over Blaine up to the chin of his his blood-drained face before stalking over to the closet to grab clothes for the day and slam the door to his bathroom.

Under the spray of the shower, he didn't see Blaine let out a small sob as he curled to his side, wrecked face hiding in his hands.

* * *

><p>Mrs. Jones opened up the door almost immediately upon Kurt's knocking.<p>

"Kurt, honey," she beamed, pulling him into a hug. "We've missed you so much dearie, don't be such a stranger every again!"

Kurt smiled and melted into his second mother's (well, more like third mother's) embrace. "I promise, Mrs. Jones," he sighed before leaning away. "May I speak to Mercedes?"

"Oh, go on ahead hun. She's up in her room."

Kurt thanked her and climbed the stairs to knock on her bedroom door.

"Who is it?" she sang out in the way Kurt knew she only did when she was ticked.

"A Mr. Kurt Hummel, willing and ready to grovel on his knees," Kurt leaned his forehead against the door.

The door opened immediately ans, off balance, he fell forward into Mercedes' arms.

She pushed him away before half-closing the door, and he wrung his hands self-consciously.

"Hi," he squeaked.

"Hello," she cocked a hip to place her hand on it.

Kurt opened his mouth to speak but, now finding the multiple speeches he had planned out in his head previously absent from his mind, closed it with a flush in his cheeks.

"The beginning is a good place to start," Mercedes hinted, breaking her cold shoulder farce and sitting down on the bed, patting the spot beside her.

Kurt walked over and kicked off his shoes before residing cross legged next to her. "It's complicated. And when I say that," he added, seeing her incredulous look, "I mean it. I don't want you to... hate me for it."

"Whatever it is, I'll hate you more for not telling me in the first place," she smiled a little.

"Okay, well then I'll tell you the most important part first," Kurt decided, taking a shaky breath. "You know I've never found this awkward or anything, but you know how you kind of... have a... _thing_ for me sometimes?"

He saw her cheeks darken. "Maybe," she said slyly.

He smiled and rested his hand on her knee affectionately. "Well the reason that I don't return those feelings are because..." he licked his lips in deliberation. "Because I... can't."

"Because I'm black," she said quietly, as if it were a fact and Kurt blanched, taking her hand as he shook his head wildly.

"No!" he asserted, "No, no, never because of that. Oh god, no. Damn," he planted his face in his hand. "This is not how I wanted this to go."

"Just tell me Kurt," she frowned.

"It's not because I don't like you, Mercedes. I love you, you know that but... it's just that I don't like... girls."

"You don't like girls," Mercedes repeated slowly.

Kurt squeezed her hand, silently praying to whatever higher power existed that she wouldn't make a disgusted noise and flee the room. "I like boys."

Mercedes' eyebrows shot up like a rocket. "Oh," she squeaked. She quickly released her hand from his.

"So I take it you haven't heard," Kurt said wearily. "Pretty much everyone in Lima knows now."

"No, I hadn't heard," Mercedes said sadly.

"Do you... I mean, if you want to... not be my friend anymore, I'll understa-"

"Kurt, honey," Mercedes smiled tightly. "You love me even though I'm different, so hating you for being different would be an unjust repayment, don't you think?"

"I guess," Kurt said. "But I'd still understand."

Mercedes turned so that she was sitting crosslegged across from him and held his hands. "The only way I could ever hate you was if you decided not to tell me how this relates to why you deserted me for two months."

He returned her smile and launched into his story, telling everything from kissing Blaine to dressing him up as a Greaser to adventures in the backseat of his Thunderbird to glee club to the drive in and then Puck finding them out, getting smashed against lockers and sitting under trees and standing on tables and performing for empty audiences and housing an injured abuse victim. All throughout the story Mercedes' face ranged from surprise to confusion to joy and finally fading into anger and sadness. When he was finally done, she leaned back against the pillows and pulled him to her, throwing an arm around his shoulders.

"Why didn't you tell me all this when you were alone? I would've been a friend to you, no matter what," she cooed.

"Well, when everyone was calling me sick and avoiding me like the plague, even my dad and boyfr- best friend it wasn't exactly easy to imagine someone loving me for a change."

He leaned his head on her shoulder and she kissed it before she lay hers on top of his. "I'm your best friend, okay? Don't ever think I could think you were sick or something. Blaine may be your boyfriend but I'll always be your _best_ friend. Okay?"

Kurt blushed at the ease with which she called Blaine his boyfriend and nodded. "Okay. But I don't think Blaine's really my boyfriend anymore."

"Don't underestimate the power of true love," she said dramatically.

"He ignored me for two months; I'm pretty sure that means he's through playing house," Kurt sighed tremulously, willing tears not to come.

Mercedes sensed his tension and tightened her arm around him. After a pause she said quietly, "But he came back, didn't he?"

Kurt frowned. He hadn't thought of that. "But who else would have received the reason why he was beaten up better than me? No one else we know is... you know."

"He could've lied," Mercedes reasoned. "He could've gone to Puck's house and lied, because he's been doing that for two months. But maybe he's sick of lying. Maybe he just wants to be Blaine, not someone everyone expects Blaine to be. I think you should give him a chance to do that."

"So I should just take him back?" Kurt furrowed his brow. That's the opposite of what he wanted to do after all Blaine had indirectly put him through.

Mercedes laughed loud, startling Kurt. "Damn, no way! Give him a hard time when it comes to... boyfriend stuff," she snickered, and Kurt blushed, smacking her playfully. "Play hard to get a little. But you should still be his friend. Be someone he can count on, like you used to be. Someone who lets him be who he is."

"So play hard to get," Kurt clarified, "While letting him get close to comfort him. I'm not sure how to draw the line."

"You'll figure it out," Mercedes reassured him. "Just do what feels right."

"MERCEDES," Mrs. Jones voice echoed from the stairs. "Breakfast is ready. Is Kurt staying over?"

Mercedes looked at Kurt hopefully but he smiled sadly. "I should probably get back to Blaine. Lord knows he'll slip into a coma while I'm not watching him."

"Damn, I hope not," Mercedes chuckled before yelling back down to her mother, "No, Ma, Kurt's gotta get back home."

"Thanks Mrs. Jones," Kurt chimed in.

"Just so you know," she replied, "Mercedes is free on Saturday evenings and likes Italian food."

Kurt and Mercedes laughed. "I'm taking it she doesn't know either?" Kurt whispered.

"I guess not," Mercedes giggled. "She'd be so disappointed."

"Maybe I will take you out," Kurt said, rising from the bed along with Mercedes. "Just to placate her."

"As long as it's just to placate her," Mercedes smirked, and pulled him into a long hug.

"I'm always here for you. You know that, right?" she said into his shoulder.

"Yeah," Kurt breathed in her familiar scent. "Yeah I know."

* * *

><p>Blaine had fallen back asleep while Kurt was at Mercedes', and woke up to the sound of knocking on the door.<p>

"Hey, Blaine? You in here?" came Finn's unsure voice.

"Yeah," Blaine yawned, cringing a little when the movement made his face sore.

Finn, still in his pajamas, cautiously opened the door and Blaine sat up on the couch. Finn took this as an invitation to sit down, so he crossed the room and did just that.

"What's shakin'?" Blaine smiled warily, the best attempt at casualness he could muster.

But Finn apparently wasn't in the mood for small talk today.

"What's going on here?" he asked abruptly. "Mom or Burt won't tell me anything, and Kurt brushed right by me on the way out the door-"

"Well, can you blame him?" Blaine said to the one person who he might have even considered a friend in the Greaser group. "You haven't spoken to him for two months."

"Neither have you," Finn pointed out.

Blaine felt something break inside. "Touche," he murmured.

"But I guess it's worse on me, since we live in the same house. It was just weird though, you know? Ever since we became brothers we were totally honest with each other and stuff, and it makes me sorta sad to think that I wouldn't like him the same if he was... well he is... I'd have tried my best anyway..."

"What do you want, Finn?" Blaine sighed, not wanting to sound rude but not wanting to run around in circles with him getting nowhere like usual.

"I just want to know what's going on. Why are you here?"

Blaine's head throbbed just at the thought of it.

"My parents kicked me out," Blaine said bluntly.

"Why?" Finn blinked.

"Because I like boys."

He could have sworn Finn moved away just a fraction of an inch. "Oh," he said, looking down.

"It's not contagious," Blaine said, a little resentfully.

They sat in silence for a little while, until Finn began to fidget uncomfortably.

"Wait," he said, eyes blazing with comprehension as he looked at Blaine. "So you're a..."

"Yes," Blaine affirmed quickly.

"But it's not something you can catch."

"I highly doubt it," Blaine frowned.

"Then Puck lied," Finn said quietly.

Blaine looked at him in surprise. "I'm sorry?"

"Puck lied!" Finn yelled, getting to his feet, and Blaine grimaced at the abrupt change in volume. "He said Kurt was sick, and got you sick and that we should stay away from him so the rest of us didn't catch it but he _lied_ because you were just like Kurt all along. So I've been ignoring my little brother all this time for nothing! And because of... Puck..." he trailed off, fuming.

"Finn," Blaine started reasonably, "I'm sure Puck didn't intentionally lie. For all we know he did think all those things."

"No," Finn shook his head. "I'm done. I'm done being pushed around. I don't want to hang around people who don't respect me."

Blaine felt it would be tactless to point out that he himself had told this to Finn about two or three months ago.

Finn was now striding to Kurt's phone, picking it up and dialing it.

"What are you doing?" Blaine asked, wincing when he tried to get up and plopping down on the couch, trying to still his spinning head.

"Hello, Mrs. Berry, is Rachel home? Yes, this is Finn Hudson. Thanks."

Blaine fell flat on the couch, head hurting from running around in circles trying to keep up with Finn's though process.

"Hello, Rachel," he said angrily. "I was wondering if you would like to go out on a date with me this Wednesday night. Anywhere, you pick. Yeah, that sounds great. I'll pick you up at six. Good bye," he said with triumphant finality and slammed the phone down just as Kurt entered the room.

The silence was short before Finn was striding over to Kurt and scooping him up in a hug.

"Finn," Kurt breathed, patting his back. "Can't breathe," he strangled out.

"I'm so sorry buddy," Finn said fervently. "Brothers are supposed to be there for each other, and I wanna do that from now on. Okay?"

"I- okay," Kurt said, smiling a little.

Finn held the hug just long enough for it to become awkward and let Kurt go, patting him on the shoulder cautiously.

"Yeah, so if anyone from the gang calls, tell them I'm not here," he said to both his brother and Blaine, and added for good measure, "And that I never will be."

He nodded with finality and slumped out the door.

"What was _that?" _Kurt asked, toeing off his shoes.

"No idea," Blaine sighed, head lolling to meet Kurt's eyes. Kurt blushed and looked away.

"I just talked to my dad. He says your parents aren't picking up the phone, so he's going over in a few days in person. And he thinks we should skip school for a little while, at least until you get better."

"But why you?" Blaine furrowed his brow.

Kurt rolled his eyes as if the answer was obvious. "I'm the only one who I trust to take care of you. My dad is no good at stuff like that and Carole would probably burst into tears every time she saw you in that state."

"Am I really that bad?" Blaine made a face, trying to hide how happy he was that Kurt was staying home to take care of him.

"You look like Picasso had a field day on your face," Kurt said sadly, but it sent Blaine into a fit of laughter, feeling a hell of a lot better once he settled back down smiling.

"Maybe you _are_ the only one who can make me better," he said absentmindedly, oblivious to the ache in Kurt's chest and the sting in his eyes as he placed a record on the machine.

* * *

><p>So maybe Kurt was acting a little immature.<p>

He had taken Mercedes' advice in full stride, but it felt like he was having a little too much sick fun with it.

He would wake Blaine in the mornings and from afternoon naps with a cup of tea or hot cocoa in his hands, made just the way Blaine liked it, by stroking his hair and whispering into his ear. Once a day he would rub ointments on his face to fight against scarring and bruising, singing lightly to the record of choice playing on the machine. He did everything necessary to heal a wounded soul and body, talking about nothing and anything to distract from painful memories and unwanted haunting thoughts.

But Blaine had a tendency to mess things up.

They would be talking about a current news event on opposite sides of the bed when Blaine would revert back to the time they talked about feelings in that exact same position. Or they would be washing Kurt's car and he would hold the hose out menacingly with a mischievous grin on his face. Or sometimes there would be just that something in his eyes when he smiled that would send Kurt's chest into a clenching, a desire to run away and move closer at the same time. And whenever Blaine messed it up, messed with Kurt's inner psyche, Kurt would immediately draw back as far as he could with tight smiles and terse answers and sometimes it would be so hard he would just have to leave.

But no matter how many times he tried, Blaine just didn't seem to get the point.

He was in such a state as he folded clothes one Friday night, a week since Blaine had come to stay. Blaine had absentmindedly commented on the Sound of Music record playing before Kurt had stonily changed the record, throwing aside the musical for favor of more low key tunes and striding back to stonily resume his laundry-folding.

A moment passed in which Blaine allowed Kurt to stand at his bed, throwing socks and pants into the basket neatly as the music played softly through the tension.

_These arms of mine, they are lonely  
>Lonely and feeling blue<br>These arms of mine, they are yearning  
>Yearning from wanting you<br>And if you would let them hold you  
>Oh how grateful I will be<em>

"Could you fold those clothes any faster?" Blaine finally said, smiling and standing from the couch to join him.

Kurt looked around and shrugged. "Depends," he sighed, willing his resentment to ease up for at least a little bit. And failing, miserably. He gave Blaine a small smile "If a mob of sickened and angry townspeople were on my tail and throwing food articles at me, I probably could."

He turned back around just as he heard Blaine deflate like a balloon behind him. He whipped back around to find, to his surprise, a look of defeated rage on the boy's face.

"God, Kurt. Why do you have to make it so damn hard?"

It hit Kurt like a freight train, to have the words that had been circling around in his head for the past week thrown back at him.

"I know you hate me, and that you'll never look at me the same way again," Blaine squeezed his eyes shut. "But it's that tiny little something, I don't know what, in your eyes that gets me. And it makes it impossible to move on, even though I know you have ages ago."

Kurt was confused. Wasn't the world supposed to be against him right now? Wasn't everything supposed to be going as horridly as possible? Why then, was Blaine being presented to him here, like this, echoing the thoughts that Kurt alone had conjured in his own head?

"Whenever you smile at me like that, so sad..." Blaine's eyes opened slowly. "It just... it rewires me so that all I can think about, all I want to do is... I don't know, _touch_ you. And hope it magically makes everything okay. Just... touch you."

Kurt knew he was supposed to be mad at something. What was he supposed to be mad at?

He couldn't remember.

He also couldn't breathe, so he wasn't sure where he obtained the oxygen to speak.

"Then why don't you?" he breathed, the craving to be touched sending his heart into overdrive.

Blaine's hand twitched, as if trying to disobey a conditioning placed upon it, before it was on Kurt's cheek, just barely cupping his face, and Kurt was leaning into the touch, eyes sliding shut so he could just _feel._

Blaine didn't need any more invitation. He brought his other hand up, encircling Kurt's face before sliding his fingers down to Kurt's neck and leaning their foreheads together. He waited 'til their breathing was in perfect sync before continuing his path; hands trailing down Kurt's arms to his hips and up under his shirt to pull at his waist, bringing them closer together. He surged forward to meet Kurt's lips but found nothing; Kurt had turned his head.

"Don't kiss me," he whispered, fisting his hands in Blaine's shirt. Somehow kissing seemed surreal; not quite solid because of the way it allowed him to float over mountaintops. But _this,_ Blaine touching him was so purely sensuous, had Kurt's skin burning and tingling so sharply that it _had_ to be real.

Obeying, Blaine instead buried his neck against Kurt, nose nudging gently against his pulse as one hand remained solid on his waist while the other roamed up over his chest and around his back.

Kurt inhaled sharply, just a little, when he felt the hand on his waist wriggle just under the waistband of his jeans. Suddenly feeling the desire to feel, His hands unlocked from Blaine's shirt, fingers trailing over the smooth skin on Blaine's arms, feeling Blaine's hand on his waist finding his collarbone and lingering there.

Blaine made a strange mix between a sob and a gasp and leaned his lips up to Kurt's ear to sing to him, in a broken voice, rocking to and fro with the languid undertones of the song.

"_These arms of mine, they are burning  
>Burning from wanting you<br>These arms of mine, they are wanting  
>Wanting to hold you<br>And if you would let them hold you  
>Oh how grateful I will be"<em>

Kurt let out a shaky breath and clung to Blaine's neck, pulling him impossibly close and allowing the tears to fall. _Yes,_ he thought, _I'll let them hold me. _

An exhale that could only be described as relieved escaped Blaine, and he wrapped his arms around Kurt under his shirt, grasping desperately at his skin and pressing tight lips against Kurt's neck.

_Come on, come on please let them  
>Just be my little woman, just be my lover<em>

Kurt didn't know how they made it to the bed, limbs tangled and simply breathing together as they lay in each other's presence.

After a long silence, Blaine spoke in a barely-there whisper.

"I wanted you to be happy."

"What?" Kurt breathed.

"Somehow I got it in my head that you would be happier without me, that once you had moved on you would move away and be able to start a new life somewhere else, where no one knew your secret and you would find a pretty girl and get married and live a normal life, without someone like me to screw things up for you."

"Blaine-"

"And it hurt me every day," Blaine interrupted. "Every day, more and more, to see you change. To see you broken down. And there was nothing I could do, at least not in my mind, I told myself there was nothing I could do because otherwise it would hurt more. Until I saw you singing in the auditorium. And I lost it. Or maybe I found it." He looked into Kurt's eyes. "Maybe I had lost myself the minute I walked away from you, and maybe it came back to me when I realized I couldn't live without you, as a best friend or boyfriend."

Kurt sobbed and buried his face against Blaine's chest.

"I'm sorry Kurt," Blaine held him tighter. "That doesn't even begin to cover it. And I don't expect you to forgive me right away, or even at all. But just know that I'm sorry. And I hope you believe me when I say I won't leave you. I love you a lot but not enough to sacrifice my well being to protect yours; it hurts too _much."_

His voice broke but Kurt was angling his head to Blaine's ear. "Well it's a good thing that you are an important factor in my well being, because that makes this a win-win situation."

Blaine laughed just a little. "I'm glad we're on the same page again."

"I don't think we ever weren't," Kurt smiled.

_I need me somebody, somebody to treat me right  
>I need your arms, loving arms to hold me tight<br>I need your, I need your tender lips, to hold me  
>To hold me together when I'm around you.<em>


	13. Singing in the Rain

**_And so the end has come. _**

_It has been a wild roller coaster ride. No way did I think back on Spring Break in a condo at Pismo Beach did I ever imagine what this fanfiction has been to me, or that it would even get this popular, or that it would be illustrated so beautifully (a shout out of thanks to the every so lovely muchacha10 of course). I want to thank every single person, from Jane Doe who stopped by for a milisecond and decided it wasn't her cup of tea to those regular reviewers who are obsessed (I still will never understand or comprehend that). So thank you. One and all._

_ It saddens me. I wish it could go on forever but all good things must come to an end. It was time, and I regret nothing. _

_Now that it's done, the time for requests is now! I'm itching for inspiration so put it in my tumblr ask box. ;)  
><em>

_And so I give you, without further ado, the conclusion (plus an epilogue) to the reason I set up a account. _

_As always, enjoy and review._

_**_Love Always,_**  
><em><strong>Raven, a.k.a. Blainey Wainey<strong>__

* * *

><p>It turned out that Burt didn't have any luck contacting the Andersons, nor did they seem to show any inclination towards desiring their son back. Thus, a week or so after Blaine had shown up at the Hummel-Hudson doorstep, Burt took matters into his own hands.<p>

It was a stormy, drizzly November day, the sky bright and grey as Burt drove his old Ford through the shining-wet streets of Lima. He had insisted that Blaine accompany him, for if there was any chance that the could somehow reconcile the family he wanted to do it right there and then. But Blaine, understandably hesitant, had agreed to go only if Kurt could come along as well, so Burt gruffly agreed.

Speaking of which, Burt had noticed a definite and poignant change in the dynamic between Kurt and Blaine. He told himself the vibes he was receiving were not at all connected to knowing his son's sexual orientation, because it would be unfair to assume Kurt had something going on with the one boy he was friends with. But at the same time, there was something definitely there. Something about the spark in their eyes, how they held each others' gazes demurely.

Burt was dumb, but he wasn't stupid.

They pulled into the spacious Anderson driveway just as the rain picked up, splattering hard against the windows.

"You kids stay here," Burt said, pulling on his raincoat. "I'll come get you if I need to," e nodded gently at Blaine before hurrying out of the car and up the driveway to the front door.

Back in the car, Kurt noticed the tension rolling off in waves from Blaine.

"Bad memories?" Kurt tried a smile, but Blaine looked on the verge of tears.

"My dad was never a cruel man," Blaine shook his head in disbelief, and Kurt glanced skeptically at the wound scarring there but said nothing; this was the first time Blaine had opened up about the fated night at the dinner table. "I never knew... well I guess everyone has the potential to be that way."

"We knew it wouldn't be easy," Kurt said, softly squeezing Blaine's shoulder. Blaine took the hand into his own. "Being different is never easy."

"Neither is pretending you're not," Blaine countered, finding Kurt's eyes.

A silence filled the car. Even the raindrops seemed to quiet.

"I'm sorry," Blaine said for what had to be the fiftieth time.

But still Kurt remained stubborn, glancing away. Because it wasn't easy just up and forgiving someone for deserting you in your time of desperate need. So Kurt gave his usual answer.

"I know."

Blaine looked crestfallen, but only a little until tears were back in his eyes. "I'm afraid, Kurt. Being here. It scares me."

"No one's going to hurt you," Kurt asserted. "Not with me or my dad around."

"I know. It's just a feeling," Blaine said tightly.

But Kurt, remembering all the ever-so-lonely emotions coursing through him throughout the span of two months of isolation, knew just how poisonous an effect a feeling could have on one's psyche.

And there was only one way to rid it from your system.

He nudged Blaine, smiling. "You know what makes me feel better when I'm upset? Or scared?"

"Singing," Blaine replied automatically, smiling faintly at how well he knew his best friend.

Kurt smiled even wider. "Exactly."

Blaine sighed and slumped against the seat. "I don't know if I feel up to singing right now, Kurt."

Kurt shrugged. "Suit yourself."

And then he opened the door and flew out into the rain.

"_Kurt!_" Blaine hollered in shock, scrambling out the door to follow Kurt lest he get run over by an out-of-control hydroplaning truck spontaneously careening onto the sidewalk.

But Kurt was safe and sound, humming a familiar tune and splashing in puddles and already positively soaked to the bone. Blaine couldn't help but smile as is friend hopped up onto a lamp post, swinging on it with one arm, because Blaine knew exactly where this was going.

"_I'm singing in the rain," _Kurt sang, _"Just singing in the rain! What a glorious feeling, I'm happy again!"_

Seeing Kurt belt out the music with unadulterated joy, seeing him in a state of bliss was what allowed the smile to spread infectiously over Blaine's face, allowed him to join in as he walked to were Kurt hung idly.

"_I'm laughing at clouds, so dark up above!"_

"Now don't start on my account," Kurt said haughtily. "I'm just singing my heart out for the fun of it, not one _asked _ you to join in."

But he was smiling as Blaine stepped over to the lamp post, wrapping his arm around it and looking up at Kurt as they sang together.

"_The sun's in my heart, and I'm ready for love!"_

Blaine adlibbed a mediocre softshoe in the puddles beside the lamppost as Kurt's voice rang out in the precipitation.

"_Let the stormy clouds chase  
>Everyone from the place<br>Come on with the rain  
>I've a smile on my face<br>I walk down the lane  
>With a happy refrain<br>Just singin'  
>Singin' in the rain"<em>

Blaine pulled Kurt down from the post and into his arms.

"Blaine Anderson, put me down!" Kurt shrieked, and Blaine obeyed immediately, dropping the already soaked boy into the puddle at his feet. Blaine managed to pull him, laughing, to his feet as he sang and led Kurt in a clumsy dance.

"_Dancin' in the rain  
>Dee-ah dee-ah dee-ah<br>Dee-ah dee-ah dee-ah  
>I'm happy again!<br>I'm singin' and dancin' in the rain!_

_I'm dancin' and singin' in the rain..."_

Kurt finally joined in with Blaine as they traipsed round the lamp post.

"_Why am I smiling and why do I sing?  
>Why does November seem sunny as spring?<br>Why do I get up each morning and start?  
>Happy and head up with joy in my heart<br>Why is each new task a trifle to do?"_

Their random spinning around the post eventually ended them up colliding with each other. Neither really made the effort to part though, instead choosing to sing the parting lines of the song face to face, arms happily wound round each other.

"_Because I am living a life full of you."_

Well, if there was any doubt in Burt's mind before, there certainly wasn't now.

He would have to be an idiot, or ignorant, to be standing on the steps of the Anderson house and not see that the boys romping around in the rain were in love.

He exhaled a great sigh. He would deal with that later; currently they had bigger fish to fry.

"Blaine," he projected across the rain.

The boys froze from where they were splashing in the street, heads whipping to address him.

"And Kurt too," Burt said warily. "You both better see this."

Kurt and Blaine exchanged glances before Kurt took his hand soothingly and led him up to the house. Burt pretended not to see that last part and took a deep breath as he pushed open the door of the house.

Kurt was speechless, and by the look of it, Blaine was too.

The furniture of the living room was covered in white sheets, and plastic underneath that judging by the crinkling noise that echoed though the eerily silent room when his father slumped down upon it. The chandelier, rug, and record player that usually resided in the room were gone, the picture frames were gone, and if Kurt didn't know any better it seemed as if there was the finest layer of dust on every surface.

"Dad," Kurt whispered. "What is this?"

"They're gone," Burt said, massaging his temple. "Left the door unlocked. Everything's covered in sheets, pictures from every room are gone, and if that weren't sign enough," he gestured about with his hands, looking around. "This damn place is empty."

"Did you-" Blaine swallowed against his dry throat. "Did you check upstairs?"

Burt looked at him seriously, as if knowing exactly what was on his mind. "No son, I left that part to you."

Blaine gulped and glanced nervously at Kurt, who nodded softly and tugged on his hand to find the stairs, Burt following close behind.

On the way they passed the dining room, and Kurt laced their fingers closer when he felt Blaine shudder.

The trip up the stairs seemed to defy time, taking forever and going too fast at once. They finally found the door to Blaine's room, closed shut, and as Kurt watched Blaine stare at it blankly Burt did a quick check of the other doors on the second floor.

"All empty," he yelled out after finally scanning the master bedroom, and the sound echoed all the way through the house. When he re-entered the hall, Kurt and Blaine were still standing at the door. Burt walked over slowly and put a hand on Blaine's shoulder.

"I don't want to force you to go in there if you don't want to, kid," he said. "But I'm pretty sure you'll be needing some clothes if you plan on staying at our house, and we're not exactly in a financial state to purchase a new wardrobe for you."

Blaine turned to stare in awe at Mr. Hummel.

"But sir, I couldn't possible stay with you... permanently?" he said.

"Don't be dim, son," Burt frowned. "No offense but I don't think your folks are coming back, and I don't know how to contact them. And no place is gonna take better care of you than the way Kurt will."

Kurt blushed and Blaine blanched.

"But... sir... I couldn't... It would be-"

"Nonsense," Burt said assertively. "I won't hear another word about it, okay?" he gazed kindly at Blaine, who seemed to deflate.

"I-okay," Blaine surrendered, turning back to the door and swinging it open.

The room was the only thing in the house that had remained preserved. The bookshelves still contained books cover to cover, the desk was cluttered with picture frames and laundry littered the floor just they way Blaine had presumably left it that night. The clothes were still in the closet, the bedding still on the bed, the rug still in place on the floor. It looked as if it hadn't been touched, or even stepped in.

Blaine stepped back, leaned against the wall, and began to weep.

Kurt went to him, letting his friend's silent tears stain his shirt as Burt unceremoniously grabbed an empty laundry basket and started placing the clothes around the floor and in the closet into it.

Blaine's shoulders eventually subsided their shaking, and Blaine lifted his head, sniffing bracingly.

"Anything else you want, son?" Burt asked, eyes sparkling with sadness.

"No," Blaine shook his head, eyes downcast. "Oh, wait," he said, springing forward past the desk of cluttered picture frames and to his bedside table, picking up the singular frame there and tossing it to Kurt before ducking into his bathroom.

Kurt's eyes welled as he turned the picture over, observing the two familiar faces in the photograph. One was his own and the other was Blaine's, and they were sharing a Pistachio milkshake at Dellie's. It had been over the summer and Mr. Brown had managed to capture a candid of the two sneaking a mischievous glance at each other before Kurt had caught him and shrieked indignantly at not being ready. Mr. Brown had claimed he was making a scrapbook, but apparently Blaine had haggled him for the picture because here it was.

Blaine hadn't forgotten him. All this time, this picture lay beside Blaine's bed, reminding him of what was and probably what could be. Was it really possible that Blaine had suffered just as much Kurt had?

Was it just as hard to pretend to be something you're not than to be punished for not pretending?

Blaine reappeared from the bathroom with two towels. He smiled faintly and offered one to Kurt.

"Here. Oh my-"

And that was the last he said before getting wrenched into Kurt's arms.

Burt's heart lurched at the sight of Kurt sobbing into Blaine, but took the shocked look in Blaine's eyes as his signal to leave.

"I'll be down in the car," he mumbled vaguely before fleeing the room with the laundry basket.

And then Kurt and Blaine were alone in an abandoned room.

"I'm pretty sure I'm supposed to be the one crying," Blaine said softly, chuckling.

"My turn," Kurt hiccuped.

"Stop this," Blaine said, trying to untangle with Kurt, with no avail. "What can I do to make you feel better?"

"You already have," Kurt sniffed nonsensically. "You- I can't. I can't."

"_Kurt,_" Blaine said firmly, rubbing his back hard. "You're not making any sense."

"I'm sorry," Kurt shuddered. "I'm so, so sorry."

"Once again, that's my line," Blaine hushed.

"I don't want to be alone anymore," Kurt finally said. "I know you're sorry and I'm sorry for not forgiving you every god damn time you say it because I feel like I'm nothing without you. Just some spare part off a car that has no function on it's own and now I get it, Blaine. That's what love is. Real love. It's not steering someone on the right path or happy feelings or singing your heart out. That's love but it's different. Real love is being a part of something, of someone. An aching feeling in your chest that hurts when you're away because there's a hole in your heart, and hurts when you're too close because of the sheer magnitude of feeling and... oh _God_ Blaine-"

Another sob cut him off and Blaine brought him closer, heart beating wildly. He had been so happy when Kurt had sang to him just minutes ago but his heart was breaking now, just like Kurt's was.

Or maybe their hearts were mending.

"I'm sorry," Blaine tried once more.

"I love you," Kurt replied.

And then, because nothing more had to be said, lips found each other and hands intertwined briefly before pulling each other closer.

"It hurts," Blaine finally gasped when Kurt nuzzled his face into Blaine's neck. "I love you so much it hurts."

"And _that's_ reality," Kurt sighed, realizing it as he said it. "It's just fantasy until it happens."

"And it's right," Blaine added, tugging at Kurt's shirt to pull him impossibly closer. "People are just too ignorant to see it."

"It's beautiful," Kurt added, smiling.

"It's real and it's right and it's summer days and pistachio milkshakes, record machines and holding hands, leather jackets and grease, bowties and stolen kisses and Elvis Presley-"

Blaine, for the umpteenth time, seemed to be at a loss for words so Kurt easily supplied one for him.

"It's us."

"It's perfect," Blaine finished.

Kurt couldn't agree more as he pulled Blaine's mouth back to his.

* * *

><p>Burt was just wondering whether it was a good idea to leave the boys alone when he saw them appear from the house, easing out the front door and into the light drizzle with a small bag of Blaine's belongings in hand.<p>

They climbed into the Ford in silence; and it was strange because it seemed to Burt like the silence was saying a lot. He considered saying something to them as he pulled out of the driveway. That they had better be responsible. That just because they didn't like girls didn't change the rules, that it wouldn't be easy for people to understand.

But somehow what came out of his mouth was, "You'll have to keep it a secret."

Kurt and Blaine exchanged looks, and Burt caught it in the rearview mirror.

"We know," Kurt finally said.

* * *

><p>Finding a solution to this wasn't easy.<p>

But Burt had a way of thinking up plans in a sticky situation.

He needed a way to protect his son from hateful eyes, and Blaine from himself because he knew if he let Kurt loose into the world Blaine would out himself of his secret immediately. And Burt couldn't deal with hateful eyes settling on two members of this family.

Because that's what they all were now. A family.

Sort of.

Because on top of protecting members of his family, he had to protect Kurt and Blaine from _the world_. They couldn't live the way they wanted to ("in love" or whatever) in Lima. Not anymore, not after the rumors and lies and outcoming truths. But they had to continue their education; that much was for sure, if they wanted to be successful in life. And that was what Burt wanted most: for them to be successful and happy. Together or not.

And so Burt found a solution.

* * *

><p>Kurt and Blaine were sharing the leftovers of Carole's chicken pot pie, a week after the visit to the Andersons when Burt joined them at the kitchen table.<p>

"Hi dad," Kurt beamed, and Burt's heart lightened at the sight.

"Good afternoon sir," Blaine smiled, and Burt's own smile diminished.

"What have I told you boy? Don't call me sir like that."

Blaine shrugged sheepishly. "Sorry Mr. Hummel."

Burt eyed him, and Blaine shrunk back, correcting himself.

"Sorry Burt."

Kurt's father nodded in approval and tugged some pamphlets out of his back pocket, sliding them towards the boys who peered at them curiously.

"What's this about, dad?" Kurt asked, brow furrowed.

"Contrary to popular belief there is life outside of the Hummel-Hudson house," Burt started. "You kids can't hide in here forever."

"We know that, sir," Blaine said, covering his mouth before he could stop himself. "Burt," he corrected.

"You know that all I want for you two is to be happy, right?" Kurt and Blaine glanced at each other sideways as Burt paused. "And I don't ask you about the stuff that happens after lights off-" Kurt began to protest and Blaine blushed furiously but Burt plowed on. "Because it's none of my business. I know you two are responsible and you're old enough to make your own decisions on that account but when it comes to your future I need to step in. As a parent I need to make sure you have the best."

"And so _this_ is the solution," Kurt clarified, gesturing at the pamphlet on the table.

"Can you think of anything better?"

Blaine picked up the booklet and leafed through it thoughtfully. "It doesn't seem that bad," he mused.

"It's so fancy shmancey," Kurt wrinkled his nose, snatching the brochure from Blaine. "And it has _uniforms_ oh God..."

"I'm sure you'll be able to accessorize," Blaine scoffed. Kurt flicked him in the shoulder.

"It's out of Lima, so no one knows about you two there. You'll be able to study in peace, and it's ahead of its time. It even integrates its students," Burt reasoned.

"Racially?" Kurt asked, eyes wide in shock, before he looked at the booklet with more interest. "Doesn't seem too shabby..."

"It's kind of far though," Blaine leaned over Kurt's shoulder to peek.

Burt took a deep breath. "It boards students."

Kurt and Blaine looked up at Burt at once.

"No Dad," Kurt said fiercely. "I can't leave you here. First of all, it's too expensive. And who will help out in the shop? You can't run that place by yourself, not in your health."

"Without two extra mouths to feed we can manage. And Finn can help me out," Burt said just as vehemently. "He's not meant for the big life like you two are."

"But-"

"No, Kurt. I've already talked to him about it, and he's fine with it. Even enthusiastic."

Kurt opened his mouth to protest, but found nothing to say and closed it. Blaine looked at Mr. Hummel sincerely.

"This is generous, Burt. Too generous. But it sounds amazing. It's just what Kurt and I need..." he took a breath and a glance at his friend- his boyfriend. "A new start."

Kurt huffed heavily. "Well, if Blaine's alright with it. I suppose I'll go along too."

"Good," Burt said, getting up from the table and adding as he left the kitchen, "Because I already paid the entry deposit for the both of you."

The boys sat in shocked silence for a moment.

"This will be great," Blaine reassured Kurt finally.

"I sure hope so," Kurt said tightly.

"I know so," Blaine asserted.

"Well," Kurt sighed heavily, gazing at the brochure, "I hope they have private bathrooms at this hell hole."

"It looks like the opposite of a hell hole to me," Blaine laughed, and leaned in to kiss Kurt's cheek. "And it doesn't matter what it has, as long as it holds a second chance for us."

"I still resent the fact that society thinks we blew our first chance," Kurt said quietly.

"One day," Blaine said seriously, pulling back to look Kurt in the eye, "I'll be able to hold your hand and people won't spare a passing glance. One day I'll be able to kiss you in public without earning dirty looks and insults. One day I'll be able to kiss you under the bleachers without an entire school exploding and you'll be able to wear my pin where people can see it," he touched the place where Kurt had replaced the pin, right at his heart. "And a while after that you'll be able to go steady with me in public, and wear my ring in public, and if we're still together after that you'll be able to put that ring on your left hand. But for now," he took Kurt's hand, "Let's be grateful that we have each other."

"I am," Kurt said, offering him a kiss. "But we'll have to be careful. Way more careful than before. No one can know, or find out. Ever."

"I know," Blaine confirmed. "We can do it. Together."

Kurt smiled genuinely at him before turning back to the pamphlet and taking a deep breath.

"Dalton Academy, here we come."

* * *

><p>The place was even more grandiose in person, splendid brick walls baking in the unseasonal first-week-of-December sunlight and towers spiraling gracefully into the air. The rolling green grass swayed in the breeze and students in identical uniforms laughed together, boys walking together up and down the grand staircase and sitting in circles on the ground in their break between classes.<p>

Kurt and Blaine waved goodbye (only a temporary one, since they would be visiting on weekends) to Burt, Carole, and Finn as they drove away in the old Ford, leaving Kurt's Thunderbird and Blaine's Cadillac side by side in the parking lot.

They turned round to view the palace of a school; their new home. Their new safe haven.

Kurt fidgeted uncomfortably in the red-piped navy blue blazer.

Blaine's palms began to sweat.

So it had all come down to this. Neither of them had ever imagined that if would be like this, that they would have to run.

But what pulled them through was that one day they wouldn't have to run anymore.

Until then they would settle for being different together if not among everyone else. They would share a dorm room like everyone else and get away with it because they were smarter now. They knew that Disney movies and love stories could come true for them... behind closed doors. They would hold hands and kiss and maybe even go a little further in the back of Kurt's car and society would be none the wiser and they would justify it as "best friends who like to kiss" even though they didn't have to anymore. Because they were more than that.

They were boyfriends.

And they were in love.

Blaine, the no longer naïve romantic, looked at Kurt.

And Kurt, now fully embracing exactly who he was, looked at Blaine.

And somehow this, each other, in a crazy world that didn't take kindly to different to different and had skewed definitions of reality and fantasy and love, was enough. It was real, it was love, and it was perfect.

So they picked up their things, shared a last longing look, and stepped into the first day of the rest of their lives, leaving hateful eyes and the past behind without even a thought of looking back.


	14. Epilogue

**_Ten Years Later._**

Lima hadn't really changed.

Kurt hadn't expected it to.

Even as _he_ changed, moved to Dalton and then college and finally New York, he knew that Lima never would. That was the thing about hometowns; no matter how many memories, haunting or nostalgic, no matter where you went, it would always be the same. Look the same, smell the same, same faces and places.

He had been hesitant to come at first. But he had known the day would come, especially after his and Blaine's jazz club act became popular beyond their wildest dreams. In fact it had started as just Blaine. He was the one who had gotten himself the gig at the little club down the block from the apartment that they shared. It was only during Kurt's first lapse in employment after starring in the tour of _Cabaret_ that Blaine began to invite him along, and it just sort of turned into a biannual thing. Until one fated night they got spotted by an agent and well, here they were, performing all around New York and maybe even a little further.

So it was only natural that Mike Chang, who had as expected taken over his father's Lima jazz club, heard about them and begged them to come.

It wasn't as if they could say no. Not when Mike practically begged on his knees over the phone, claiming that he needed business.

So here they were, on the small stage of The Hot Spot in Lima, Ohio, Kurt gliding his hands over the piano and Blaine standing up at the microphone stand.

About a hundred or so adoring eyes, sparkling in the stage lights, watched them as they sang their duet with a practiced embarrassment. They had found their own way to sing the duets they wanted to sing together; with just enough tension and occasional good-humored eye contact they were safe, mainly because people never saw what they didn't want to see.

As far as audiences all around were concerned, Kurt Hummel and Blaine Anderson were two best friends who loved to sing.

Funny how replacing one word in that phrase would send audiences all around into chaos.

"Unforgettable," Blaine sang the words to their personal favorite, "That's what you are..."

"Unforgettable," Kurt sang, in his higher octave, causing an awed murmur to spread through the audience, "Tho' near or far."

As they practiced, Blaine looked over, rolling his eyes and chuckling at Kurt. Kurt mechanically snorted back as Blaine continued.

_"Like a song of love that clings to me,  
>How the thought of you does things to me.<br>Never before  
>Has someone been more..."<em>

_"Unforgettable,"_ Kurt closed his eyes, losing himself just a little in the music. _"In every way."_

"_And forever more-"_ Blaine sang out.

"_-And forever more," _Kurt broke in.

_"That's how you'll stay..." _

"_That's how you'll stay."_

Finally, they allowed themselves to lock eyes briefly, their one sign of affection unseen by the audience, as their voices rose together.

_"That's why, darling, it's incredible  
>That someone so unforgettable<br>Thinks that I am  
>Unforgettable, too." <em>

In the musical interlude, Kurt allowed himself to scan the crowd. Most of the faces he didn't recognize, and so it was obvious that they didn't recognize him or Blaine either. Didn't remember them from hazy high school days. And that was good. It was the way that should be; history remained in the past. No one here knew anymore, no one lingered enough to care.

Except a few.

Burt and Carole, leaning comfortably together as they moved on the dance floor knew.

Finn, sitting at a table with his wife Rachel knew.

Mike, backstage and sadly watching the couple perform knew.

Sam, combing his hair back nervously as he walked home past the open doors of The Hot Spot knew.

Quinn, Santana, Tina, and Brittany, waiting the tables knew.

Puck, who had dragged himself off his front porch and away from his brown-paper-bagged stash of booze to listen in the shadows of the club knew.

And Kurt knew this in the back of his mind but it didn't really matter; not anymore. What mattered was him, and Blaine, and the music.

And really, it had always been that way.

_"Unforgettable  
>In every way,<br>And forever more  
>That's how you'll stay.<em>

_That's why, darling, it's incredible_  
><em>That someone so unforgettable<em>  
><em>Thinks that I am<em>  
><em>Unforgettable, too."<em>

* * *

><p><em><strong>The End.<strong>  
><em>


	15. Coda

_I had to do it. In light of recent events. It had to be done. I think you'll agree._

_This is totally optional, and not in any way a mandatory part of the story. It ended with chapter fourteen and it will remain ended there, but this is a little tidbit that I wrote that didn't deserve its own story. So I added it on here. Just because I am a firm believer in happy endings. And because I realized I forgot to add Mercedes in on the last chapter. -_-_

_Edit: And good job, Raven, for totally getting the date right. Thanks guys hahaha  
><em>

* * *

><p><strong>June 24, 2011<strong>

They were sixty-nine years old when Blaine kneeled down on one knee.

Kurt had gotten home late from Mercedes' fancy dinner club act at a late hour, mainly because he had spent so much time catching her up on his week afterward, and before he could even kick off his shoes and sink his aching bones down to the couch for his daily news-watching session Blaine was throwing the remote aside and pulling Kurt to his feet in astonishing speed.

"Blaine, honestly," Kurt protested, turning to frown at his partner.

There were tears in his hazel eyes.

Kurt, rendered speechless, allowed Blaine to drag him all the way to the middle of Times Square.

Soaked in glittering lights and rainbow beams of color in the square, Blaine pulled him into a bone crushing hug before easing himself down.

To propose to Kurt.

"Blaine, what are you-"

"Marry me," Blaine whispered brokenly.

"But-"

"It's legal," Blaine croaked, and Kurt realized that he had his class ring in hand. "I'll buy you a real one tomorrow but there was no time tonight, so I fished this out of a box in the basement before you got home. Marry me, Kurt."

Kurt's heart stopped. He opened his mouth, formed words, but no sound came. After all the years of being denied the right to love each other in every way possible...

It was unreal.

For the first time in fifty two years Kurt found himself debating the whole reality versus fantasy thing.

"Yes," Kurt mouthed. "Yes, thank God, oh yes, yes, yes!"

And for what felt like the first time, Kurt pulled Blaine to him and kissed him in front of anyone and everyone.

No one was glaring.

No one was insulting.

No one was throwing fruit.

In fact, if Kurt didn't know any better he would have said that people were applauding.

"That day you talked about," Kurt started, "When we were seventeen." And Blaine smiled a sunshine-defying smile in response.

"I think it's here," Kurt squeaked, voice taught with emotion.

"Told you so," Blaine whispered, eyes spilling over.

They're real. They're perfect. And they're in love.

Who's to say they never were?

_Well my hands are shaky and my knees are weak  
>I can't seem to stand on my own two feet<br>Now who do you thank when you have such luck?  
><em>

_I'm in love._

_I'm all shook up._


End file.
